


To Be A Good Husband

by Lafaiette



Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses Ships [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Neglect, Childbirth, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Hubert is a disaster but he tries very hard, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Love, Marriage, Married Sex, Past Child Abuse, Pregnancy, Smut, he is such a goth dramatic dork how can i not love him, his S Support with Byleth is so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: Hubert struggles with his second life, that of a husband. Not because he doesn't like it - he simply has no idea what to do.But he is always eager to learn and improve himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will forever be a Blue Lions gal, but Hubert is so nice and I really liked his character and his S Support with Byleth ; v ; Thus, this fic was born, even before a Dimileth one. I really am weak as hell for goth boys ;_;

Married life was not like Hubert had expected it to be.

All the examples of it he had ever seen had come from his parents and those few things he had read and heard about during his childhood.

His father and his mother had never been particularly affectionate with each other. He could count on one hand those occasions in which he had seen them kiss or touch each other. There had never been enough time and energy to dedicate to love and tenderness in House Vestra. What most mattered was serving the Emperor and making sure the enemies of the Empire were dealt with.

Anything else was secondary, a less important task that could be completed only after completing those dedicated to the Emperor’s safety and plans. His parents had known this and Hubert had learned it at a very young age, when his father would rather teach him how to poison someone than ride or read together.

Even his mother, less cold than her husband, would only ever pat his shoulder and brush her lips on his hair, barely smiling, when wishing him goodnight. Of course _after_ asking him, with a soft, but firm voice, if he had completed all his homework and tasks of the day.

He hadn’t minded it. He had soon learned to accept that way of living and not to envy the life of his peers, the ones who would always boast about their generous family, the parties they had thrown for their birthdays, the love they wanted to find similar to that of their parents.

They were spoiled, his father would often tell him when he was a child and gazed at the other children at court. Spoiled brats with no responsibilities, whose families carried no great importance, no real power. The only one with power was the Emperor and House Vestra and its members would always be there to help him rule.

Hubert would always nod and say he understood whenever his father reminded him that. Only many years later he had realized he was trying to convince his young mind not to desire what the other children had. His father had burned every seed of longing that his son’s heart might have possessed, razed the very potential of it with cold words and distant mannerisms, with rules and expectations, with obligations and orders, and Hubert had grown up accordingly.

But now, he was at a loss. He knew not what to do in this new, unfamiliar reality. Gathering the courage to ask Byleth to marry him had already been an epic feat for him, as he was absolutely inexperienced in such things. Lady Edelgard’s joy and enthusiasm after hearing what he wanted to ask the Professor had been what had finally prompted him to act; knowing him, it would have taken much longer.

He was used, upon every return to House Vestra, to finding only an eerie quietness, the hushed whispers of the servants greeting him without meeting his eyes, the cold rooms not getting any warmer even with the fire roaring in the hearths. In his younger days, he had been used to hearing only a flat, matter-of-factly “You are back” from his father and a “Hello, son” from his mother whenever he returned home.

But the first day he came back home since his marriage with Byleth, he found a completely different situation. So different, he actually wondered for a moment if he hadn’t lost his mind and wandered into someone else’s mansion.

He could hear _laughter _in the air. A group of maids was giggling and joking while carrying linens and they greeted him with a cheerful “Good morning, Count Vestra!”

There were some people repairing the drawing room that had fallen into disarray during the war. They were talking to each other loudly, exchanging ideas, and everyone seemed to be bustling around, carrying this or that, smiling and talking in a normal tone. All the curtains were open, letting the light in, and he could see little orbs of dust floating in the air.

_House Vestra works in the dark_. It was one of the first things his father had taught him. But here and now, as he watched everyone around him so relaxed and at ease, he couldn’t help but wonder why it had taken so long for him to understand that, just because his family acted in the shadows, it didn’t mean that their house had to be so gloomy and silent as well.

He gingerly moved farther within the mansion, almost failing to recognize certain areas and rooms, so bright and different they were under the sunlight. He noticed with a grimace how the previous dim light had hidden dust and filth from even the best servants in the most remote corners of the main rooms.

But it seemed that everyone was already at work to fix that, washing the wooden tiles with buckets full of water and delicate soap, dusting the curtains near the open windows, scrubbing the glass panes. And everyone greeted him with a bow of their head and a smile. Hubert’s face betrayed nothing as he bowed and greeted back, but in truth his mind was completely lost.

He was… _flabbergasted_, Linhardt would have said.

\- - -

He and Byleth had been married for a week. After the ceremony, they had spent three days in a lovely country location near Enbarr for their honeymoon, then they had gone back to the Imperial Capital to resume their duties.

Edelgard had scolded them, saying they could have stayed away for as long as they wanted, but the deep eyebags under her eyes had betrayed her fatigue. There were still many things to do and the Emperor needed her faithful advisors.

They were happy to be there again to help her, Byleth had said. But a part of Hubert, that part that had appeared after declaring his love to her, had wondered sadly if she would have liked to spend more time alone with her husband, something every wife probably desired, instead of going straight back to work.

The next day, she had gone to House Vestra to finally visit it and introduce herself to the servants. Hubert, too busy at court, had not been able to accompany her and formally announce the arrival of the new Countess Vestra to the house. And, for the second time in a short span of time, he had felt regretful, ashamed, terribly sorry.

“Don’t worry.” Byleth had said with a big smile as he apologized for the third time. “Stay here and help plan that new reform. I will go check the territories near the Capital to see if everything is in order.”

It had been the second time she had understood and forgiven a shortcoming of his. He had kissed her, praying it would be the last. He liked to consider himself almost perfect in the role of vassal and advisor of Lady Edelgard, but as a husband… he felt even less than mediocre.

House Vestra was only one hour of ride from the Capital and owned no territories, no lands. The mansion stood on a hill from where the Imperial Palace was well visible in the distance – it had taken Hubert even less to reach it thanks to his fast and reliable horse and the impatience that burned in his heart.

He had felt eager to leave the Palace and go back home for the first time in his life and the feeling had scared him, unfamiliar and shocking as it was. But married life, he had realized, could change a man more than he had thought possible, even a man such as he.

He found Byleth in the smaller dining room of the house. She was reading some documents by the crackling fireplace – the room was warm, warmer than it had ever been, as if the summer of Brigid had decided to visit them.

She hadn’t heard him approach; she kept reading, brow slightly furrowed, her figure encased in the light coming from the large window behind her. He felt warm inside, the same warmth he had felt towards her for years and that only recently he had been able to fully admit to himself. He felt love, like he felt it every time he thought about her and saw her and talked to her. His gloved hands itched at his sides, longing for her touch.

He approached her silently and was halfway to her when she realized he was there. She looked up, her face radiant, and a smile bloomed on it. He froze on the spot, feeling his ears burn, and he stared at her in a weird trance as she beamed at him and ran to him.

“Hubert!”

He felt her hand on his waist as she rose on her tiptoes; he felt her lips against his, a quick, sweet kiss that left him breathless. He returned it as best as he could, still awkward with displays of affection and love.

His kisses were still clumsy and he never knew when it was the right time to indulge in such happiness and pleasure. While they were at court, he had desperately wished to kiss her in the corridors, but had been too embarrassed and scared of bothering her to do so.

“Welcome back.” she said, her smile still there, blinding and enchanting. He swallowed hard, staring at her. His hands hadn’t touched her yet, still hanging at his sides like two useless appendages.

“Thank you.” He managed to smile back, hoping his face wasn’t too red. He attempted to move, to hug her, to initiate a second kiss, to show her he was happy of being home, of being with her, but it was like his body had been hit by an ice spell.

“How was your trip back home?” she asked while wiping the dust of the road away from his shoulders and sleeves. He swallowed again, not used to such care. He had always taken care of himself and his belongings, ever since he was a small child.

“Enjoyable.” he replied, following her every move, enraptured. He saw the ring he had finally given her during their honeymoon shine on her left hand, a beautiful diamond that caught the light.

The one she had given him, her only family heirloom, was always on his finger, sticking out a little from underneath the glove. During his absence from home, he would often touch it while reading and working, a habit to calm the nerves and feel closer to her.

He wondered if she did the same with hers, but he didn’t dare ask.

“I am sorry I was not here to introduce you to the house.” he said softly, shame bubbling up again from the pit of his stomach. She looked up at him and her smile became playful.

“I didn’t mind. Everyone has been so kind! They all treated me with the greatest care.” She made a tiny low sound, looking around. “We started cleaning up a bit. The place has got quite dirty during the war and I thought of surprising you. Is that… is that alright?”

“Of course.” He raised his thin eyebrows in surprise. “You are the Countess Vestra, now. This is your house and you can change it however you most see fit.”

“Don’t worry.” she laughed softly, sending a pleasant sensation down his neck and chest. “I don’t plan of making any big renovations. We just need to clean some dust here and there and repair two or three rooms.”

“This place has no particular sentimental value to me.” he said with a small smile and a scoff, shaking his head, remembering the aloof mannerisms of his traitorous father and the quiet absence of his mother. “You can tear it down and build a new mansion on top of its ruins, for all I care.”

A soft and timid and strong light appeared in Byleth’s eyes as she gently said: “This is our home.”

He felt foolish and crude, truly a rat like he had often been referred as. His face fell and he inwardly screamed at his hands to take Byleth’s – but they refused to obey him, for the first time in his life. So many new and unfamiliar events in the span of a so few days.

“Forgive me.” he hurried to say, shame and concern in his voice and eyes. “I… I didn’t mean I don’t care now. I meant to say that…” He sighed, cursing his bad choice of words. “I’m sorry.”

“I know what you meant.” she reassured him, her smile back on her lips. Another shortcoming, another understanding. He felt disgusting.

Her smile slowly disappeared as she added, more quietly: “I know this place reminds you of your father.” She beamed again at him and put a hand on his chest, the hand with the ring. “We shall create a new sentimental value for this house, then. We are just at the start, after all.”

“Yes, indeed.” Hope grew in his heart. He could still improve. He could still become better for her.

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire, the distant talking of the servants and workers, and the chirping of the birds outside. He finally managed to move one of his arms, stiff as a stick. He rested a gloved hand on her arm and felt the warmth of her skin underneath her silky shirt.

Byleth kept smiling at him, expecting nothing. Of course she did – they hadn’t even consummated their marriage yet. Both were inexperienced and socially inept. The night of their marriage, while resting in the bed of that country house, they had agreed on waiting until they would be ready.

But when would they be, if he kept acting like a _fool _even when sharing a simple and chaste kiss? he thought, cursing himself again.

“Were your days enjoyable? Have you been well?” he finally asked, his thumb stroking her arm in a repeating motion. This wasn’t how a husband was supposed to greet his wife after a few days without seeing each other, just one week after their marriage. And yet, Byleth didn’t seem to mind, to be disappointed.

“Yes, all went well. The territories nearby are recovering well from the war. I already sent some letters to the nobles Edelgard asked me to contact.”

He slightly frowned. That wasn’t what he had asked. That wasn’t related to her wellbeing, but she had thought all the same that he meant that when asking about her days in the new house.

He knew he was _slightly _obsessed in making sure the Emperor’s work would proceed as smoothly as possible, but he also knew how reliable and brilliant Byleth was. He truly had had no doubts about the work she had done at home and his desire to know more about her _daily life_, her personal thoughts and experiences as Countess Vestra, grew.

She tapped his chest with her long, slender fingers. “And you? Did you remember to eat?”

“Yes.” he lied, but then he changed his mind, wishing to tell her the truth. “… No. I was too busy.”

“Oh, Hubert.” She sighed fondly, studying his face. He smiled at her and his smile grew when she pouted.

“I knew your cheekbones were sharper than before! Come on, let’s go eat something.”

“I, ah…” He looked down at his clothes. They were usually kept in pristine conditions, but the dust and soil of the road would still find its way on them.

“I would like to bathe, first.” He swallowed. Again. He wanted to ask her to join him. He knew the bathtub was large enough for two people to fit in it – but they hadn’t made even made love yet, how could he ask her to share a bath together, naked, pressed against each other?

And yet, would she like that? Would she accept and allow him to wash her hair and touch her lovely neck and shoulders? Would that be the right thing to ask as a husband?

“Of course. I will wait for you in our room.” She stepped back and he already started missing her. It was strange, almost frightening, to feel so vulnerable.

He felt new, as if he had been bleached and brought back into the world in a new form, in a new shape, in a new essence. He still remembered how to do and say certain things, but now there was also a new life before him that he had never experienced before. A new life nobody had taught him anything about, leaving him lost and stiff, eager to be perfect, but aware of being faulted.

“See you later.” Byleth said, rising on her tiptoes again to reach his mouth. He bended to help her and when they broke the kiss, he stared at her with a focused expression on his face.

“I…” he started. He wanted to tell her many things. He wanted to tell her that he had missed her, that he loved her, that she was beautiful. But as he searched for the right words and the right way to say them, all that came to his mind were his father’s distant gaze and his mother’s silence as they dined together, each sitting at the opposite sides of a long table.

“I…” He cleared his throat and frowned. “I will tell you all about the reform during dinner.”

_Fool. _

He basically fled the room, his chest burning, and it was then that he realized he hadn’t even brought her a gift.


	2. Chapter 2

Their dinner that evening was a quiet event.

They had already shared meals and a table during the Academy years, the war, and the three days of honeymoon, but eating together in their own house, in the privacy of their quarters, was new.

They hadn’t even needed to agree on the place. The dining rooms felt too empty and large, while their bedroom was comfortable and warm, a small round table in front of the fireplace all they needed to eat their food.

It was… intimate, even more than during the honeymoon, and Hubert’s skin – clean and cooled after his bath – suddenly felt hot again as he looked at Byleth’s lips and long eyelashes.

At first, they talked about work. The plan for the new reform had been approved, he said, and there was only little paperwork left to be filled. Byleth told him in greater detail about the situation in the nearby lands and the letters she had sent and Hubert found himself replying and answering without any difficulty.

It seemed that his mind and mouth worked better when such topics were involved. Even during their ‘tea parties’ – as Byleth called them -, he had always ever talked about the Empire, their duties, the work that awaited them, his mind purposefully avoiding the words he wanted to tell her, those related to his love for her, her brilliance, and her beauty. The most he had been able to do in those occasions had been thanking her from the bottom of his heart for her help and assistance.

Now, things were different. There were rings on their hands, showing the vow of love, care, and dedication they had made to each other. Discussions of paperwork, missives, and reforms weren’t good for a newly married couple.

Silence fell again between them and he pathetically tried to find something else to ask. He saw Byleth eat her dessert with gusto, a happy smile on her face, dimpling her rosy cheeks.

He had never appreciated food much – he only ate because his body needed it… or at least that’s what he had told himself for years. But she had soon figured out that he actually had some favourite dishes he liked to eat every once in a while, and she had guessed his love for bitter food and drinks even before he had revealed it to her.

That evening, she had asked the cook for some specific food while he was bathing. She had surprised him with rare meat and a dessert made out of coffee, an unusual recipe she had found in a book and requested the cook to replicate. The old man had added something of his own, probably thinking such a dish couldn’t be properly called a dessert without something sweet on it; so he had put berries on top of the dark, square sweet.

Byleth was eating those with enthusiasm, Hubert noticed. He had pushed away the ones on his plate, wanting to enjoy the bitter taste of the dark chocolate and the coffee without any influence, like the original recipe demanded. But he found her cheerfulness contagious and decided to pick a small, ripe, and round berry.

“They are so good!” she said, pointing her spoon at his plate. “Try them with a bit of cake!”

He did so and found the taste to be surprisingly pleasant. He hummed in approval, smiling and nodding, and his golden-green eyes snapped up at her when he heard her giggle. His cheeks burned as if someone had poured embers on them and his heart beat faster.

“Wait.” She reached out across the table, a napkin in her hand; she brushed it against his chin with a concentrated look and Hubert seized the occasion to stare at her lips and collarbone. He felt sweat run down his nape.

“There, all good. You used to make a mess on your face even when we had tea, you know?”

“I know.” He chuckled. “But at least I always cleaned my mouth before leaving and making a fool out of myself with everyone else.”

“There, there. I thought you were adorable.”

“That’s… not a word I would use to describe myself.” He already missed her touch and the simple, but sweet act of love of cleaning his face. She had some chocolate and coffee mousse stuck on her mouth and on a corner of it as well and he wondered if he could return the gesture without embarrassing her and himself.

Where was all his courage, his shrewdness? Where was his iron will, the strength he constantly showed whenever something, no matter what it was, had to be done?

But this was not a task given to him by the Emperor. This wasn’t a rule to follow to ensure that everything within the Empire would proceed smoothly. There were no plans to follow here, no people to question, no targets to eliminate. There were only love and the intangible unknown that surrounded it, like a foggy battlefield that could only be discovered by navigating it, step after step.

He took his own napkin and cleared his throat, catching her attention. The table was small and he didn’t even need to reach out too much to touch her.

“Here.” he said with a low, hoarse voice, not meeting her eyes. He saw a blush spread across her face and neck and that sight made his heart beat so fast he almost got dizzy. Her heart was beating, too, he remembered. For the first time in her life, she had a heartbeat. He wondered, hopeful, if his gesture had made it speed up, even just a little bit.

“Thank you.” she said with a big smile as he wiped away a trace of chocolate near her upper lip. She smiled so much, now, so often. He knew it was in part due to the absence of the Goddess’ Crest within her, but he hoped that it was also due to their marriage, his presence.

She had said she loved him. She had accepted his proposal – she had come to the Goddess Tower to declare herself to him in the first place. They had both recited marriage vows to each other. And yet, he couldn’t still believe she had accepted him, after everything he had told her in his immature Academy days, after everything she had seen him do during the war.

Also, it was painfully clear how awkward and dense he was with matters unrelated to the Empire, murder, and espionage. And his looks… weren’t exactly the best, as a disbelieving Caspar and a shocked Bernadetta had pointed out when he and Byleth had announced their engagement, thinking he couldn’t hear them.

It had never mattered to him before. Beauty was not something he needed to carry out his orders. In fact, his frightening looks had often helped him deal with his weaker targets without shedding unnecessary blood and wasting too much energy and time. A simple glare or a chilling laugh from him had been enough to fix a problem more than once.

But _now_… now he suddenly cared about it. He wanted her to be proud of her husband in every way. He wanted her to be happy of walking side by side with him in court and say they were married. He didn’t want her to be pitied or mocked for being together with a gloomy man with small, cold eyes and a too long face.

There wasn’t much he could do about that. He had to trust her when she said she loved him for who he was and do his best to at least improve in other fields of his marital life.

_Trust is not in my nature. _He remembered telling her the night of the ball, on top of the Goddess Tower. He had never admitted it to anyone, but he had actually followed her there that night, wishing to see who had dared invite her up there. He had felt jealousy, boiling like bile in his throat, but he had realized what it was only much later.

_Never trust anyone, except for the Emperor. _One of his father’s first lessons.

_Not even you? Or Mother? _Hubert had asked, a quiet five years old child who already knew which plants could be used to create an odourless poison.

_No. Not even us. Trust only the Emperor and yourself. _He could still recall vividly his father’s eyes and the coldness of his hand on his shoulder, the grip almost painful. _Always expect lies and deceit. You cannot afford to be caught by surprise or painful realizations. Keep everyone at arm’s length, like I do._

_But… _Hubert still had had the courage to answer back, to ask questions back then. He had frowned in confusion and his father’s grip on his shoulder had tightened. _But you married Mother. _

_Yes. _His father had paused for a long moment. _Yes, I did. _

He _trusted _Byleth. He trusted her with his very life and he had even been able to tell her as much in the Cathedral of Garreg Mach. He _loved _her and he knew – one of the few things he knew about that topic – that there couldn’t be love without trust.

His father was probably rolling in his grave, cursing at him for having become such a soft-hearted man, for daring to have what others had for once in his life. Good.

“Hubert?”

Byleth’s concerned voice helped him snap out of it. He blinked and saw that he was still holding the napkin against a corner of her mouth. She was looking at him with worried eyes.

“Ah… My apologies.” He drew back, ears and chest burning for the umpteenth time that day. He had never felt so hot in his life before. “I was… I was thinking we have much to do tomorrow.”

_Fool!_

“Yes, that’s true.” Byleth groaned, pouting at her plate as she finished the last of her dessert. “There are still some nobles to contact and merchants to hire for the renovations Edelgard asked for. I sent a message to Caspar – hopefully he will remember to reply as soon as he receives it.”

“That would require a miracle and you know we have never been given those before.”

She giggled at that and Hubert smiled at her, surprised and happy. That scorching warmth he felt only in her presence made his eyes glint and his cheeks turn pink.

There were only a few berries left on her plate, now. He looked down at his, where they were much more numerous, smeared in chocolate and coffee. He slowly raised the dish, listening to her while she told him what she wanted to ask the merchants, and delicately pushed the berries into her plate.

“And I think they will actually accept our offer, since… oh!”

She watched the berries fall down with her mouth open, surprised. Once finished, he cleared his throat and put his plate back where it was, all in complete silence. His ears were melting.

“Hubert, no! Don’t you like these, too?”

He raised his eyes to her, loving the sight of her blush and her starry eyes. He smiled.

“I do.”

She huffed, blushing harder, and tried to put the berries back onto his plate. But he pulled it away before she could do so and the outraged way she looked at him made him chuckle.

“You eat them.” Courage suddenly surged within him like a wave and he teased her with a smirk. “You are the glutton of the family, after all.”

“Weird to hear that from Mr. I-Can’t-Wait-To-Drown-Myself-In-Coffee-Today.” she teased back, a playful and mischievous look on her face. He felt electrified, cheerful and happy like every child was supposed to be.

“I will pretend not to know what you are talking about.” he said, his cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling. Byleth hummed, raising an eyebrow, a smirk curling her lips. He wanted to kiss her, but his courage had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Why don’t we share them, then?” He nodded towards the berries. “Look, they are even. Four to you and four to me. Would that please you?”

“Yes!”

They did that, but he sneaked another berry into her plate at the last second. She noticed it immediately and promptly gave it back to him, fast as lightning. They played like that until Hubert grasped her agile, quick hand and held it down onto the table with his own, while returning the berry to her with his other one, the gesture slow and deliberate.

Her hand was warm and soft, so small under his. He wasn’t wearing any gloves - he didn’t when he changed into more comfortable clothes after a bath - and the skin-to-skin contact was a lot for his mind and heart to fully comprehend.

He felt breathless, as though he had run for miles without ever stopping. Such a simple touch was capable of transforming him into the most surprising version of himself. He felt scared, lost again, but also hopeful and ready, a weird mixture of feelings that left his mind blank.

He didn’t dare look at her – he fixed his eyes on the tablecloth and tightened his jaw, waiting for her reaction, for a word from her.

But when Byleth started withdrawing her hand, he felt like falling. His eyes quickly went to her in panic; was she bothered? Annoyed? Disgusted, perhaps? Had he been too forward?

He was shocked to see her smile. He was even more shocked when she freed her hand to lock their fingers together, her grip strong and loving. The ring she had given him shone on his finger under the firelight like a small star, a gracious multicoloured comet.

He cleared his throat and squeezed her hand, rubbing his fingertips on her knuckles, while his thumb explored her palm. He could feel her strength and kindness, the callouses that had been caused by battle and those caused by homework to correct and reports to complete. He felt safe – he who had never needed any protection - and he vowed, once again, that he would do anything to protect her.

_The Emperor is your only priority. Remember to protect always and only the Emperor. _his father reminded him from a world years ago distant, in a house so much different from this one. The Hubert of today heard those words, but slightly changed them, something that he would have thought impossible before.

_The Emperor is one of my top priorities. Remember to always protect her._

And then, looking at Byleth’s smiling face, he smiled back and remembered the vows he had pronounced in the Imperial Palace, Lady Edelgard conducting the ceremony with tears of joy in her eyes, happy for her friends.

_Byleth Eisner, I, Hubert Von Vestra, swore to love, protect, and cherish you for the rest of our days._

He squeezed her hand again and then took her other one, tangling his long, deft fingers with hers. They were ink-stained and that endearing sight made his heart throb and his smile soften even more.

“I should really start training again soon.” she laughed, her blush a crimson flower decorating her face. “I’ve been so busy writing letters and meeting with nobles that I fear I might lose some of my combat shape.”

“You would still look wondrous, no matter what.”

The words had left his mouth before he could even form them in his head. He heard Byleth gasp and he saw her stare at him in surprise – of course she was surprised, considering how awful he was at giving compliments. He looked away, embarrassed and happy at the same time, and when he heard her giggle, he managed to smile again.

“Thank you.”

They kept holding hands for a while, the peace in the room so strong it was unlike anything Hubert had ever felt before. These were his old quarters and even at the end of his childhood he had never felt at ease in them. But now that Byleth was with him, he truly felt at home.

“Mh.” She moved a little on her chair before stifling a yawn. “I think… we should go to bed.”

“Oh, of course.” He immediately withdrew his hands, the absence of her touch similar to a wound in his chest. “We’ve had a long day. Let us retire for the night.”

There was a wheeled table waiting for them outside the room – they placed the dishes and cutlery there, knowing a servant would later come to collect them. It was an idea devised by Hubert’s mother a long time ago, in order to avoid any unwanted intrusions of the servants inside the masters’ quarters. He had never questioned it, knowing secrecy was important and spies could hide everywhere, but he wondered if Byleth considered it an exaggeration.

There was a folding screen in the room and he insisted for her to change into her nightclothes first. Despite having already spent three days together in a similar manner during their honeymoon, this would be their first night together under the roof of House Vestra. They were officially, beyond any doubt, husband and wife.

He heard the rustling of her clothing as they spoke, sharing ideas for their work of the next day. He kept his eyes down, not even daring look at the folding screen in case it would show her shadow behind it. When she stepped out, however, his eyes immediately went to her.

He had already seen her wearing a nightgown. The one she had put on tonight was beautiful, with long, ruffled sleeves and a low neckline. White as snow, with black details here and there… little ribbons?

He wanted to hold her hands again.

She slipped under the heavy covers of the large bed, still musing out loud about the reports they were supposed to receive in a few days. When she realized he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her, she stopped and gave him a smile.

“Aren’t you going to change for the night?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course.”

He disappeared behind the folding screen. He fumbled with the simple pair of pants and the shirt he had chosen for an abnormally long amount of time. By the time he emerged from behind the screen, Byleth was already lying down, looking at the moon visible from the window.

He joined her under the covers, but made sure not to touch her or brush his legs or an arm against her. He knew his body tended to be rather cold – no matter how feverish he actually felt in that moment – and he didn’t wish to startle her.

He watched her as she looked at the moon. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the swell of her breasts, her profile, the shape of her ear and the blue locks of hair tucked behind it. The blood in his veins ran fast, like a wild river of thick mud. He felt heavy and light at the same time. A morbid part of his mind recalled that there was a poison that procured almost the same effects on people. He had used it once, on a stubborn threat that had refused to die sooner.

He grimaced, dismissing those memories, and kept watching his wife. She looked even more beautiful under the moonlight. What was she thinking about? Was she unhappy? Regretting her decision of marrying him?

Her face was blank, expressionless like old times, and he couldn’t read it. He desperately tried to find something to say, an interesting topic to end the night with. Something funny, perhaps, or romantic.

He had no idea what could be considered romantic, though.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, then blurted out: “There is a reason why I didn’t bring any token for you at the Goddess Tower.”

_You absolute buffoon._

Byleth slowly turned her head to look at him, surprised. He couldn’t turn back, now, so he sighed and continued: “I feared… No, I was almost sure that you would have refused me.” He smiled a self-deprecating, bitter smile. “I’ve never been a good catch, after all.”

She frowned at that and moved on her elbow to better face him.

“I invited you up there to finally declare my love to you, but I expected you to gently, but firmly refuse me. I…” He swallowed and reached for her hand, grasping it tenderly. “I couldn’t believe it when you accepted my proposal so eagerly. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Hubert…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“No, I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry you thought that. Why should I have refused you, Hubert?”

“I can think of many reasons.”

“Well, I can’t.” She smiled at him, so blinding and beautiful his breath hitched in his throat.

And then, she firmly, but _gently _pulled him into her arms until his head was resting on her chest, right between her firm breasts.

“_Uh_.”

She giggled at the sound and at how tense he was. He didn’t even dare breathe. He felt as if he could break her, himself, or even the world around them if he moved, as if everything was made of glass, even the air itself.

“Listen to my heart.” she whispered, her hands on his hair, caressing it. “It beats like this whenever I’m with you.”

His eyes widened and he pressed his ear harder against her chest. Her heartbeat was strong, quicker than normal, a bit erratic. Something hard formed in his throat, something he had not felt since he was a small child, but he stubbornly ignored it.

He rose from his position, his whole face redder than the fire still crackling in front of the bed.

Byleth smiled up at him, staring into his intense gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was usually so good with them, but she had that effect on him and he could only stare at her and hope she could understand all the same what he wanted to tell her, what his heart was screaming in order to let her know what his tongue couldn’t say and pronounce properly.

He took a deep breath and slowly, so very slowly to allow her to stop him if she wanted to, he pulled her into his arms and placed her head on his chest, mimicking his same position from before. She let out a tiny gasp and he wrapped his arms around her, a gentle grip that was both reassuring and loose enough for her to slip away.

But she didn’t move away. She cuddled closer in his embrace and pressed her ear on his chest, her eyes wide. He kept still, his lips a few inches from her hair. She smelled like flowers and coffee, like herself and him.

Then she laughed, a joyous sound that warmed every nook of his soul and every bone of his body.

“Oh, Hubert, your heart is beating so fast, too!”

He smiled into her hair and started pressing small, feather-light kisses on it. He tightened his hold on her a little bit more and she tangled their legs together under the covers, laughing again and never moving her head from his chest.

They fell asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments ;_; 
> 
> Hubert and Byleth listening to each other's heart was inspired by some artworks I saw on Twitter, while the reason why Hubert didn't bring a ring for his proposal is a headcanon that's circulating quite a lot in the fandom and I agree with it - that poor man probably thought Byleth would refuse him immediately ;_;


	3. Chapter 3

The morning light woke him up.

Byleth’s face was pressed against his chest, her back facing the window, and so she continued to sleep with a content expression on her face. He slightly pulled back to see her better and his pulse quickened almost painfully when he saw the small smile curling her lips.

It was early, but still later than what he was used to. They had much to do, but for the first time in his life he wished to remain in bed for a while more, basking in Byleth’s touch and warmth. Together, they could write those letters and reports left a lot faster, he thought. They weren’t in _that _much hurry.

Only a week had passed since their marriage and he was already a changed man. What would he be like in a few years? In a decade? In two decades? He had never been the romantic, mushy type, but he was starting to believe that love truly was as powerful as the sharpest knife or the most forbidden knowledge in dark magic. It was… a different power from those, of course, and that scared him and intrigued him beyond words.

_What have you become? _his father had asked him when Hubert had come to the manor to arrest him and personally see to his execution.

_Only what you wished me to be. _he had replied with a cruel grin and a few hours later the axe had fallen on his father’s neck.

He took a deep, long breath. He didn’t like thinking about such things in Byleth’s presence – it felt like soiling their time together, the aura of calmness and peace that she possessed. His father wasn’t worthy of sharing her same space, dead or not, mere memory in his head or not.

He sighed and closed his eyes, ready to relax in their embrace; but after a few minutes, she stirred and raised her head, looking at him with sleepy eyes, similar to a lazy cat. He chuckled at the sight and she smiled back.

“Good morning.” she said, her voice hoarse and slurry with sleep, rubbing her eyes.

“Good morning.”

Something within him snapped in a good way and he pressed his lips on hers before he could even fully realize what he was doing. Her mouth was soft and even though their morning breath wasn’t exactly the best – he hoped, mortified, that she didn’t mind his -, he found the experience exhilarating.

It energized him as much as an entire cup of the strongest black coffee, if not more.

He avoided meeting her eyes, too embarrassed, but he could still vaguely see that she was smiling, no, grinning from ear to ear. He focused on the decorations of her nightgown – they _were _ribbons and he touched one, the same scorching sensation from yesterday returning in his body.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, glancing briefly at her before her smile and her glowing eyes made him retreat like a coward on the battlefield.

“Yes, this bed is pretty comfortable. And you are very warm.”

He barked out an incredulous laugh, staring at her in shock and disbelief.

“Me? Warm? I fear you don’t really know the meaning of that word.”

“It’s true. I slept as cosy as a chick in its nest.”

“Ah.”

He smiled, flattered, and returned his gaze to her ribbons, enjoying the feeling of her hands on his back. Then he frowned, thought about it a little more, and looked at her with a playful, fake glare.

“Does that mean I’m the chicken, then?”

She burst out laughing. It was a loud, elated sound, unlike anything he had ever heard from her. He felt filled with energy and light – the world around him was almost blurred and only Byleth was visible and clear, Byleth and her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, her bed-hair, the flush on her neck as she snorted and put a hand on her mouth to hide the sound.

She was embarrassed by it, he realized, but he thought it was adorable. There was something so scarily beautiful in sharing their morning like that in the comfort of their house. Not even their honeymoon had been like this – they had still been too shy and awkward around each other, but now… now it seemed the ice was finally breaking.

There was so much he wanted to say and do. He wanted to carry her in his arms and bring her to the garden outside to let her admire the flowers she loved so much. He wanted to eat breakfast with her there, not in the cold rooms of that manor, full of shadows and whispers, but in the open air. A new kind of tea party, an advanced version of it where they weren’t a professor and a student or two friends busy at war anymore, but husband and wife.

He wanted her to have a normal, happy life, as normal as the life of a Vestra could be. But now that the war was over, now that the corrupted nobility had been punished, and the Slitherers, weakened, would soon be dealt with, there was truly hope for even House Vestra to have peace and love within its walls.

“Byleth.” he called, his voice a whisper. His chest hurt and he thought his heart would explode. He didn’t call her by her name often. They didn’t even used pet names with each other. Even thinking about a suitable one for her left him breathless with embarrassment, but a part of him wanted to do it. He wanted her to know how much he loved and cherished her even thanks to such a simple thing as that.

She stared at him in surprise. He hated it when it happened – he wasn’t angry at her, but at himself, at the cause of that surprise on her face every time he did something that wasn’t threatening people, planning strategies, or laughing wickedly.

“Byleth.” he repeated, pulling her closer, his fingers digging into the soft cloth of her nightgown. He felt hungry and full at the same time, concentrated on her only and unfocused on everything else in the room, in the Empire, in all Fòdlan.

One of her hands found the opening on the collar of his shirt. When he felt her fingertips brush his skin, he drew in a sharp breath, a gasp that reached his eyes, making him look panicked.

In that moment, he remembered the long preamble he had prepared to propose to her at the Goddess Tower. It was a foolish, boring speech, he realized, but it contained only truth and his love for her.

_I am well aware I am not a charming man, nor in looks nor mannerisms._

“I…” He pressed his forehead against hers. Her breath was hot on his face and his body was as tense as a violin’s string.

_I also know we didn’t have a good start. At the Academy, we warily circled each other without ever coming closer. I apologize for the things I said back then. I don’t regret my intentions and my duty, but I regret having made you feel frightened or upset. _

He moved a hand on her shoulder. It was bare and she was a bit cold – was he really that warm like she had said, then? He looked down at her lips and then at the curve of her neck. He caught a glimpse of her breasts and he almost choked on air.

_But my actions were also caused by something else, not only my mere duty towards the Emperor. I was an immature fool and I couldn’t properly express what I felt for you. What I feel for you._

“Byleth.” He cradled her face in his hands. His constant use of gloves had made them look as pale as bone, as the flesh of the corpses he had seen on days-old battlefields and in torture chambers.

He pushed those morbid thoughts away – not here, not now. He had to keep his work, his tasks, separated from his life with Byleth. He couldn’t let the flow of blood running at his feet enter and stain their home.

“Byleth. I wish to make love to you.”

There was no surprise or shock in her eyes now, only a great joy. He caressed her cheeks reverently.

“I will stop touching you at once if you don’t want to. I will leave the room if my request makes you uncomfortable. We won’t ever have to speak of this again, if you wish so.”

“I want to make love to you, too.” She pressed her lips on his chin and her whisper turned him hard: “Hubert, honey.”

He kissed her, hard and deeply. It was a clumsy kiss as usual, with more saliva than anything else, but she seemed to love it. She moaned into his mouth and a pleasant shiver ran on his spine. They were both shaking – Hubert couldn’t remember the last time he had trembled like this – and he brought his hands on her back to reassure her.

“We can stop. We _must _stop if you don’t like this.”

“No, please. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” She moved his arms away to take his hands and place them on her breasts. He tensed up, his blush spreading to parts of his body that had never been so pink before.

“Please, Hubert, touch me.”

He swallowed and tentatively squeezed her breasts. He had never touched anyone like this before. And nobody had ever touched him like Byleth was now touching him, her small, strong hands stroking his chest and sides under his shirt.

“They are… soft.”

“Are they?” she giggled and he laughed with her. He didn’t believe in the Goddess, in any deity; but in that moment, as they explored each other’s body and her smile filled him with light, he believed she truly was something holy, something ethereal.

“Aren’t they a bit…” He stopped, looking for the right word. She was beautiful, magnificent, and they hadn’t even taken off their clothes yet. But he was worried for her wellbeing.

“A bit…?”

“Heavy?” He cleared his throat and weighed the large breasts in his palms. He had always wondered, both during the Academy year and the war, if they didn’t bother her somehow. He told her as much, managing to form a coherent sentence without dying on the spot, but his embarrassment grew tenfold when she giggled again.

“They are a bit heavy, yes. Sometimes my back hurts.”

He smiled at her, braver than the day before. He felt capable of anything, even of facing the entire army of the Slitherers alone with no support.

“I will give you a massage every night, then.”

Her eyes glinted in the sunlit room. There were no shadows around them and when she thanked him and kissed him, he melted into her mouth and embrace.

“Do you want to see them?”

“May I?”

“Of course.” She looked away for a moment and he recognized shyness on her face. “I’m sorry if you will be disappointed, though.”

He had never seen her being so timid before and he drank in the sight before him. He usually studied people’s expressions to see whether they were telling the truth or not, to find their weaknesses, to learn their personality. But he looked at her to perfectly memorize the way wrinkles appeared near her eyes when she laughed, the way her eyebrows shot up when she was surprised, the way she scrunched up her nose every time she thought hard about something.

He then fully understood what she had said. She was ashamed of her body? She, who looked perfect to him, who had visited his dreams for five long years, causing him to get angry at himself, but also to keep going and hoping – no, _waiting _for her return.

“Byleth.” he said, moving her head to meet her eyes. He touched the soft skin under her eyes with his fingertips, as though she was still a dream that would disappear if he touched her too hard or suddenly.

“You are gorgeous.”

“Well, now!” she laughed and his smile broadened when he realized she was flattered and happy. “Thank you.”

He helped her pull up her nightgown, shaking more than before. When the white cloth fell away, forgotten on a corner of the huge bed, he saw the bare body of his wife for the first time.

There were scars – some large and dark, others thin and almost invisible – almost everywhere. He saw the curve of her waist, the mesmerizing shape of her thighs, her cute bellybutton. And then, lower, a trail of dark hairs that led to her most intimate place.

He looked away from that, sure he would faint. He didn’t want to scare her or upset her with a too intense and unsettling stare; so he looked back at her bellybutton and her tummy. She was softer than he had expected. Her muscles were clearly toned after years of fighting, but the first thing that came to his mind as he looked at her naked body was…

“Cake.”

“Huh?”

“You…” he cleared his throat, ready to jump out of the window, but too enthralled by the sight of her to move. Still, he had once again said the wrong thing, like the complete imbecile he was.

“You… You remind me of a cake.” he concluded, his voice an ashamed whisper, his cheeks on fire, his hands sweating.

But Byleth wasn’t offended or confused; she laughed again, hands on her mouth, moving back and forth. He couldn’t help but laugh with her, his embarrassment melting away, replaced by joy and relief.

“Do you mean to say that I am a _treat_, now?”

His next laugh was boyish and loud, coming straight from his chest. He leaned forward to meet her – they were both kneeling on the bed and they held onto each other while laughing. His hands went back to her face, cradling it, while hers rested upon his chest. He realized then that he was still in his nightclothes.

“Such a terrible joke.” he said, grinning at her. He had never smiled and laughed like this before, he was sure of it. He hadn’t even known he was capable of it. “It will haunt me for days, my sparrow.”

There, he had found his pet name for her. Sparrows were cute, kind with their chicks, but also strong and resilient. He hadn’t thought about it, it had come to him in that moment – but he believed it fitted her perfectly and he hoped she would like it.

Apparently, she loved it, because she beamed at him and kissed his hands. He sighed in relief and pressed their foreheads together, looking into her eyes.

“My sparrow, my darling one. You are beautiful, so very much so.”

Dams had broken in him and he felt like flying alongside her. They were both free, the sky all for them to explore and admire.

It came his turn to strip. He removed his shirt and pants with great hesitation and bashfulness, perfectly aware of his faults and lack of charm. Despite being a mage, his physique was somewhat well built and he was tall, but he was pale and lacked the strength and handsomeness other men possessed. 

He stayed still on his knees, his cock half-erect between his legs, as Byleth slowly traced his chest, his shoulders, and his arms. She was in awe and he couldn’t wrap his mind around that fact. He was tense, but now that he felt a bit more confident with his words, he started using his wit to try to calm down.

Pity that he directed it at himself and turned it into self-deprecating jokes that made her frown and pout at him.

“I apologize.” he mumbled when she swatted his chest and told him to stop.

“You are handsome, Hubert.” she said, smiling again, and he found himself smiling back. She brushed back the bang of dark hair in front of his eye and he kissed her hand, then her wrist.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” she laughed, her hands now on his thighs.

“For having accepted my proposal.” He stared into her eyes with a serious, solemn expression. “For being with me despite my glaring faults.”

“Oh, Hubert.” She kissed his nose and her hands moved closer to where his cock was. He almost forgot where they were. It was as though they were in a different dimension, far from Fòdlan. He expected to see only light outside the windows, not the garden and the familiar hills and woods that surrounded House Vestra.

“I don’t know how to do it, but… may I touch you?” she asked in a whisper. He could see stars in her eyes, he had always seen them and it had scared him terribly when he was at the Academy. Now, he felt incredibly lucky.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing either.” He gave her a hopeful, tender smile. “Shall we learn together?”

“Yes.” Her hands were just a few inches away from his cock and he slowly moved his own down her waist until they were resting on her hips. She felt warm, now, and as he leaned in to kiss her, he brought a hand lower, touched the faint patch of hairs, while hers found the base of his manhood.

They smiled and laughed softly as they kissed and whenever they broke the kiss, they looked into each other’s eyes. Theirs was a dance, slow and timid, tentative and eager, a bit anxious and intrepid. They didn’t know the steps yet, but together… yes, together…

“Count, Countess?”

Byleth yelped while Hubert jumped out in surprise. They turned to the door and heard a knock; they had probably missed the first one.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but Count Bergliez is here. He said he received your letter and wishes to see you as soon as possible to discuss it.”

“_You’ve got to be kidding me._” Hubert growled, gritting his teeth. Byleth bit her lips to stifle her laugh, but a snort escaped her mouth all the same. 

“I’m going to _annihilate _him.” he swore, glaring at the door. He wanted to send him away. He wanted to spend that day in peace with his wife. Surely nothing _Caspar _had to say could be that important.

But then he remembered the amount of work that needed to be completed and he sighed. Byleth read his mind and nodded, prompting him to answer. Her smile, so kind and understanding and amused, made his heart bleed.

He said to the servant, his voice dripping venom: “Tell _Count Bergliez _that we will meet him soon.”

“Yes, Count Vestra.”

As soon as he heard the footsteps of the servant fade away, he turned back to Byleth, a pained, almost desperate expression etched on his flushed face. He had failed her again.

“Forgive me. I swear it won’t take long. We will deal with Caspar and then…” He stopped and grabbed her by the arms, his grip delicate, but firm at the same time. “Byleth, I swear I will give you all the pleasure in the world today. I will make you feel good.”

“You already do.” she replied softly and he almost choked on a sob.

“Oh, my sparrow.” He hugged her, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting a hand on her hair. He kissed her temple and realized tears were prickling his eyes. He loved her, he loved her _so much_.

“I will be a good husband.” he murmured, pressing kisses on her cheek, his eyes shut tight, his hold around her strong and protective. “I will, I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear they will finally consummate their marriage. For now, please accept my apologies ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	4. Chapter 4

Hubert’s glare was so powerful even the servants in the room, long used to the ways of House Vestra, trembled and hurriedly left the room.

Caspar, who had to stay there, could only yelp and step back, sure he was about to get obliterated.

It wasn’t so far from the truth.

“Oi! What did I do?! What’s that look for?!” His smile and usual energy returned when he saw Byleth, smiling warmly at him. “Professor! It’s good to see _you_!”

“Thank you, Caspar. It’s good to see you, too. Please, sit and have breakfast with us.”

“You guys haven’t eaten yet?” he said, shocked, as he accepted a seat at a table laden with coffee, eggs, fruit juices, and various sweets for Byleth. “Wow, you really must have been busy with work!”

“Yes. With work.” Hubert muttered, his glare borderline homicidal.

Byleth did most of the talking, since he was too annoyed by Count Bergliez’s untimely arrival. Caspar had _miraculously _remembered to discuss the matters in the letter as soon as it had arrived; he had left for House Vestra quickly, wishing to talk in person and see the Professor again, he said.

Hubert ate little, preferring to drink coffee until the heat still pooling in his belly and the memory of Byleth’s bare body against his would be partially covered by the bitter taste. But how could he even momentarily forget such bliss? 

“You will ruin your stomach that way.” she chided him, noticing how much coffee he was drinking without eating anything solid first. It was true that habit gave him problems sometimes, but it was better than stuffing himself with food when he didn’t feel like even looking at a crumb.

“I’d be happy to spit blood on this table, if that’s what would make Caspar leave sooner.” he growled, glaring at the coffee in his cup. The poor Count Bergliez babbled and moved uncomfortably on his chair.

“_What did I do?!_ Professor, is he always this grumpy at morning?”

“No.” Byleth’s smile was blinding and Hubert started missing their bed – _their _bed – even more. “He is usually very sweet and tender. He just couldn’t finish…” She turned to him, her smile coy and mischievous. “… An important work he started.”

He smiled at her while drinking, his eyes crinkling with amusement and his cheeks tinted pink once again. He hoped Caspar wouldn’t notice that last detail.

“Aw, I’m sorry! This won’t take long, I promise.”

Unfortunately, it _did _take long. Caspar’s mind was a maze and his inability to focus on a single topic for more than half an hour proved to be an immense problem. Hubert started to understand why he and Linhardt were such close friends.

They discussed the problems of their respective counties until lunch. They managed to agree on some ideas and planned to write them down to bring them to the attention of the Emperor.

It was clear that Caspar still wasn’t used to his role and he asked for Byleth’s advice several times during their conversation. Hubert offered his own opinions every now and then, always in a witty, a bit patronizing manner, until Byleth pinched his thigh under the table to make him stop.

Caspar stopped for lunch, too, and at that point Hubert was seriously contemplating murder. He had so many ways to accomplish that at his disposal – each of them better than the other. He would let Byleth decide. Perhaps a tiny poisoned needle on the neck? That was one of his favourites, impossible to recognize except for a slight sting that could be mistaken for an insect and highly effective.

“Hubert.” she whispered as Caspar was busy talking and stuffing his mouth with meat. “I know what you are thinking about.”

“The sweet release of death upon Caspar and the marvellous peace that would follow it?”

“_Yes_.” She smiled at him, clearly holding back her laugh. “Please, honey, try to refrain yourself for today. There will be another chance in the future.”

His smile – that had been an upsetting grin or smirk on his face for the whole day – turned into something sweet and soft. He found her hand on the table and stroked her fingers.

“Is that a promise?”

“Mh-hm. I will even let you choose the right method.”

“You spoil me, little sparrow.”

She giggled and that single sound was enough to dissipate his bad mood. They were joking, teasing each other with playful banter. She knew he didn’t really mean any harm to Caspar, but she had played along instead of being horrified or angry. He was sure someone else would have thought him serious and really about to murder his friend – everyone at court believed him to be like that, after all.

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to chase his former classmate out. He wished to regain the luminous peace he and Byleth had been immersed in while in their bedroom, that peace that had hidden them from the outside world.

But there was always a price for something. Only a few minutes after Caspar’s departure, when Hubert was more than ready to cuddle with Byleth in front of the fireplace while doing paperwork – _he_, cuddling! -, a messenger from the Imperial Capital came. The Emperor kindly required their presence at court, warning them that they would need to stay there for several days.

Hubert didn’t complain or protest. He knew how busy Lady Edelgard was and how much she needed their help in those delicate months following the end of the war. They were as crucial as the war itself, with new rules to implement and old ones to discard, with cities and villages to rebuild, and the Slitherers to monitor until the time would come to finally eliminate them.

However, he couldn’t also help but feel… sad. Disappointed. The timing couldn’t have been worse, he thought as he and Byleth prepared their bags and luggage. Life at court was frenetic, loud, never leaving anyone a chance to catch their breath, always demanding time and personal space. He doubted they would find a way to stay together like this while there.

They left the house in the capable hands of an old maid who had served House Vestra for several decades, then they left by horse. The days were getting warmer, but there was a certain chill in the air in the hours before evening, and Hubert made sure to envelop Byleth in his long cape.

He was still a little awkward with his words, but those hours spent together had done miracles, those same miracles the Goddess had never given them before and in which he didn’t really believe.

He joked and talked with his wife without too much trouble. Some of the things he said still made her laugh and he turned red more than once, mumbling apologies and letting the twitch of his mouth turn into full smiles.

She was sitting before him on the large saddle of his strong horse, holding the reins. He had wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady and that position allowed him to press kisses on the top of her head and her neck. After receiving one of such kisses, she sighed.

“This wasn’t exactly the _riding_ I had in mind for today, but alas.”

“_Byleth_.”

She giggled and he groaned, hiding his face in her hair, wishing his blush wasn’t so evident on his pale face. Thankfully, she couldn’t see him, but he knew that she knew how red he was.

“Now I cannot stop thinking about it.”

“About what?”

“Cease this at once.”

Another giggle and his smile broadened; he squeezed her waist and pressed a soft kiss on her shoulder and she raised an arm to caress his hair.

It reminded him of something she had done once as a professor. During the Academy days, she would pat some students’ shoulder or head to praise them. Those like Bernadetta, Linhardt, and Dorothea had always appreciated it deeply, while Byleth knew that such a gesture would have only embarrassed people like Lady Edelgard or Ferdinand.

She had never tried to approach him that way. She had used to praise him only with words and a smile when he answered correctly, but even back then a part of him had always longed to feel her touch. He had tried not to envy Bernadetta every time Byleth had patted her on the head or complimented her with more words than usual.

Then, one day, he had been able to answer a particularly tricky question about strategy, a problem not even Lady Edelgard had been able to solve. He had raised his hand, the solution burning in his mind like a sun, and pronounced it out loud. He had smirked, satisfied, upon seeing the look of surprise on Byleth’s face.

Then she had _beamed _at him, such a shocking expression on her usually blank face that everyone in the class, Hubert included, had fallen silent. She had approached him, complimented him with great enthusiasm, and patted his head. Two quick, gentle pats that had made every muscle of his body tense up. He had glowered at her, redder than he had ever been before in his life, but she had been unfazed by it and had returned to the blackboard, writing the solution on it.

Lady Edelgard, a bit jealous of the attention the Professor had given him, had not spoken to him for a few days after that.

He laughed as he remembered that event.

“Why are you laughing?” Byleth asked, cheer in her voice, and he kissed her hand which was now stroking his cheek.

“It is a rather silly matter, but… do you remember when…”

Their laughter echoed across the hills as they approached the Capital.

\- - -

Edelgard apologized multiple times for having requested their presence so abruptly. She hugged tightly “her dear teacher”, as she still called Byleth, and grasped Hubert’s arm in an affectionate gesture. Then they got to work as always.

The several days she had mentioned became weeks. There never was a moment of respite; meetings lasted until night, the piles of paper and documents to read and sign grew on everyone’s desks, skirmishes and short battles were dealt with in the north and east, cities and villages had to be visited and their damages evaluated.

All of this fell also on Hubert and Byleth. As the Emperor’s closest advisors, it was their responsibility to make sure the gears within the Empire worked correctly and her wishes and orders followed.

They slept in the same room, but their schedules didn’t always match. Moreover, Hubert’s habit of working during the night, living off coffee and bread, didn’t let him as much spend time with Byleth as he would have liked. Sometimes they slept together for a few hours, cuddling under a blanket in their bed, before one of them had to leave. They met in the corridors and smiled at each other, nodding, before going their respective ways, but that was it.

He hated himself for not being able to stop and give her even a chaste, small kiss to brighten her day. But everyone watched everyone in the Palace and his embarrassment and self-consciousness -which he now considered two of his greatest adversaries - didn’t allow him to let himself go with her in front of other people. Not yet, at least.

A full month passed. Hubert had always felt more at home in the Palace than in his own house, but now that he and Byleth were married, he missed the manor where they had spent those few hours of marital bliss.

He had always despised nostalgia, the longing for things long gone, but his desire was for something that they hadn’t even enjoyed fully yet. Something so close at hand, yet so terribly far at the same time. He yearned for that and he felt, once again, ashamed and sorry, for he could see how much Byleth wanted to spend more time with him as well. And he could do nothing to make her wish come true, right now – the Emperor still needed them.

They met with his former classmates more than once. Dorothea and Bernadetta stole her away “for a moment”, much to his chagrin. A moment that turned into a generous number of minutes during which he had to eat a quick, unsatisfying lunch with Caspar, Ferdinand, and Linhardt.

His mood got even worse when the topic shifted to Byleth.

“So… how are things going with the Professor?” Linhardt sleepily asked, having the decency of covering his yawn with a hand. “It is so odd to see you look at someone without a creepy smile or frightening light in your eyes.”

“They are going well.” he said, taking a spoonful of stew to avoid talking. But the other men were relentless.

“I cannot believe how lucky you got, Hubert!” Ferdinand sighed with a shake of his head. “To marry the Professor… I don’t think you are even aware of how fortunate you are.”

“I _am _aware.” he hissed, glaring at them, his grip on the spoon almost painful. “Now let me eat in peace.”

“Seriously, though…” Linhardt continued, ignoring his glare as though he wasn’t even there. “What did she see in you, exactly? You are not what I would define a handsome man.”

“Thank you, Linhardt.” he gritted out, dark magic crackling in his veins.

“And your manners are… well, to put it bluntly…”

“More bluntly than _this_?”

“Let me finish, please. To put it bluntly, your manners aren’t always that great. You are imposing, often cold and calculating, a tad arrogant, and downright creepy. In fact, I wished to study that laugh of yours and its effects on people…”

“You are walking on thin ice, Linhardt.” he warned him, his scowl so deep he could feel it carve its way into his flesh. “So thin you might actually be walking on water.”

“Hey, who are we to judge?” Caspar intervened, folding his arms behind his head, his three bowls of stew resting empty before him on the table. “The Professor probably finds all that hot!”

“Didn’t you threaten her at the Academy?” Ferdinand suddenly recalled, scratching his chin. “To fall in love with the same man who threatened her multiple times… my, it sounds like one of Bernadetta’s stories!”

Hubert scoffed and left the table, ignoring their calls to find another one there in the refectory of the Palace. He finished his lunch quickly - and then he saw her. He immediately spotted her blueish hair among the crowd, accompanied by Bernadetta’s violet head and Dorothea’s chestnut hairstyle.

They were giggling, their faces all red, even though Byleth’s was definitely the reddest among the three. They had been outside, he realized seeing their wind-crinkled clothes and wind-swept hair. Byleth was rubbing her arms, slightly hunched forward, and Dorothea and Bernadetta were rubbing her back while giggling and talking.

He frowned, studying the situation. She had lost her cape during the war and had never replaced it. An idea formed in his mind – he would commission a new one for her, large and heavy, perfect for the strong, crispy winds that came to Enbarr from the sea. A black one with white accents… tiny ribbons, like her nightgown? And maybe some blue and pink details to recall her old mercenary attire… _and _birds, faintly embroidered on the border, to recall their conversation in the Monastery and his pet name for her.

He smiled as he stood up to bring the bowl back to the counter where the cooking staff was. He heard her voice above everyone else’s; he turned to look at her one last time before going back to his duties of the day and found her looking back at him.

She was smiling and her smile widened when their eyes met. She discreetly waved at him and he nodded at her, his smile warm, as warm as his ears. Behind her, Bernadetta and Dorothea noticed the scene and started giggling again.

He frowned, glared at them – causing Bernadetta to squeak -, then left the refectory with quick strides, his neck burning and sweating. But Byleth’s loving smile never left his mind and he touched the ring on his finger more often than usual that day.

\- - -

Two more weeks passed. By then, they had completely lost track of the time. They lived day by day, barely glancing at their schedules, and only the weather outside vaguely reminded them of the flow of time.

One morning, Lady Edelgard entered his study with a happy, cheerful smile. It was rare to see her show her emotions so openly.

“Good news, Hubert. You and the Professor can go back to House Vestra today. I believe we have taken care of everything we needed, for the moment.”

He put his quill back into the inkpot, surprise and relief settling in his heart.

“Are you quite sure, Your Majesty? There is still some business that…”

“Minor details that I can perfectly take care of alone.” she said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “I already told the Professor. She was surprised like you, but in the end, she agreed to leave. I believe she will be ready to depart soon.”

Lady Edelgard’s smile was… happy. Enthusiastic, even. There was a light in her eyes that he had never seen before – she reminded him of an impatient child who couldn’t wait for something important to happen.

“Could you give this to her, later today?” she asked, taking out an expensive-looking package from the pocket of her dress and handing it to him.

“I… Yes, of course.” He didn’t ask why she couldn’t give it to her herself before they left for House Vestra, even though he was pretty curious about it. Lady Edelgard’s orders were absolute.

“Well, then.” She _giggled _behind her hand. Hubert thought he had fallen into another dimension, for a moment. “I wish you a good day, Hubert.”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty, thank you. I wish the same to you.”

She left the room and he went back to his notes, baffled, ready to complete that last part before preparing to leave. His puzzlement soon left room for joy. He and Byleth would soon be alone again, in the comfort and quietness of their home.

The cape he had ordered for her had been completed and he had sent it to the manor, with a note for the servants to hide it in a specific location. He would give it to her for her birthday, which was in a week.

He couldn’t wait for that day. It was the first time in his life he actually looked forward to someone’s birthday. Lady Edelgard’s had always been a painful reminder of what she had lost and his own birthdays had never been celebrated.

But Byleth’s… he would make sure everything would be _perfect_.

\- - -

They met in their room an hour later. They packed their things with shy smiles and fleeting touches of their hands and he even found the courage to kiss her before leaving the room. She looked more cheerful and joyous than ever, he noticed. There was an expectant look on her face and every time their eyes met, she blushed and looked down, smiling and biting her lips.

“Quite impatient, are we?” he chuckled. She nodded quickly, almost bouncing on her feet.

“Yes, quite a lot.”

“I am as well.”

They asked a squire to fetch their horse at the entrance of the Palace. But someone approached them as they waited arm in arm on the huge marble staircase.

“Minister Vestra! I’m sorry to bother you again, but the Merchant Association cannot wait any longer!”

He sighed, trying to rein in his impatience. The man was a rather insistent merchant who belonged to the guild of the Capital. They weren’t near as powerful as the merchants that had used to rule the late Leicester Alliance, but their money and goods were essential to the Empire in any case.

“I believe the Emperor will be able to spare some of her precious time for you, sooner or later.” he said, before looking away. Where was that squire?

“We’ve been waiting for _weeks_! We have no intentions of tolerating this any longer!”

“Tolerate?” he scoffed, glaring at the merchant. “It’s _us _who has been tolerating _you_. You and your invasive, loud manners.”

“How dare-”

“What my husband is trying to say,” Byleth intervened with a kind, but firm tone, “is that the Emperor has been terribly busy these days. She would greatly appreciate it if you could wait a little more.”

The merchant babbled something, looking back and forth from her to Hubert, probably unable to believe they were married. Something sour made its way into Hubert’s throat and his scowl deepened.

“I-I cannot accept this, I’m sorry! Either we hold a meeting now, even just in the presence of Minister Vestra, or our agreement is null and void!”

Hubert let out a sharp snarl and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to calm down. He had no intention of surrendering to this petulant merchant’s whims, but the guild _was _an important asset for the Empire. They couldn’t risk misunderstandings that could very well become disagreements or true revolts in the future.

He looked at Byleth, feeling as though someone had just pierced his chest with a sword. There were that understanding and kindness on her face that he didn’t deserve. He wondered, like everyone else had done before, how he could deserve her, why she had chosen _him_.

“Go. This is important.” she whispered, squeezing his hand before loosening their linked arms. “I will wait for you at home.”

“I’m sorry.” he sighed, cupping her cheek. “It will only take an hour, no more. I promise.”

He kissed her under the sun, on the open staircase that led to the path of the main gates, where people were. His whole face was on fire when they broke the kiss, but he was smiling, a smile devoted to her only.

Her eyes were bright and her face full of love. It hurt to watch her leave – he turned to the merchant with a deadly glare, fists clenched at his sides, a murderous aura surrounding him.

It only got worse, later, because the meeting _didn’t _last a mere hour. It went on and on, without any hope for him to avoid it. The merchants were sly and childish and he hated them all. He wished to set the room on fire with them inside and leave for House Vestra immediately. His voice turned cruel and arrogant as he kept them in their place.

It was late in the evening when they finally reached an agreement. Not everyone was satisfied, but the Empire and its citizens would greatly benefit from it and Hubert felt proud, even if he was completely drained, devoid of any physical and mental energy after such a long and awful meeting.

He missed Byleth more than ever.

Before requesting a horse from the stables to go back home, he went to Lady Edelgard to inform her of the important step forward concerning the Merchant Association. At that late hour, she was in her quarters; the guards, perfectly aware of who he was, let him pass without problems and he soon found himself in front of her closed doors. He knocked.

“Come in.”

“Lady Edelgard,” he said as he stepped into the room and bowed, “I’m here only to inform you that I had a long meeting with those merchants who have been causing some problems in the past days. I humbly took care of it in your stead and reached an agreement with them. I shall leave a copy of it for you here.”

He took the paper from under his arm and went to her desk, where she was sitting at. He placed the copy on it and only then he noticed the _shocked _way she was looking at him.

“I…” He frowned, worried. “I’m sorry, did I make a mistake? Would you have preferred taking care of this yourself?”

“What in the world are you still doing here, Hubert?” she asked in a disbelieving whisper.

“What…?”

“Have you been here the _whole _day?” She stood up, her eyes wide, the light in them outraged. “You didn’t go back to House Vestra? Explain!”

“No, I…” He stopped, shook his head, then tried again. He was so, so confused. What was this all about?

“This morning, as Byleth and I were about to leave, one of the merchants approached us and insisted to hold a meeting.”

Edelgard stayed quiet and he continued after taking a breath.

“He threatened to revoke the support of the Association. I thought it would be better to take care of it now. Even Byleth agreed.”

“Where is the Professor?”

“She went home this morning.” He shook his head again, worry and panic slowly rising in him. What had he done wrong?

Fury appeared in Edelgard’s eyes. She slammed her hands on the desk, making papers fly away and quills and trinkets rattle. Hubert bowed, ready to be scolded, even though he didn’t know the reason. It wasn’t his place to insist and ask again, but…

“You fool!” she shouted like she had never shouted at him before. “Have you forgotten what day is today?!”

He instinctively raised his head, alarmed.

“The day…?”

“It’s the _Professor’s birthday!_”

His throat went dry and he could only shake his head. No, her birthday was the next week, he had checked it on his calendar.

“Lady Edelgard, forgive me, but I fear you are mistaken. Her birthday…”

“It’s today, Hubert. _Today_.” She glared at him. “Why do you think I told you to go back home? What do you think that packet I gave you was?”

“I…” He swallowed and shook his head again. He couldn’t believe it. Years ago, he would have believed Edelgard even had she told him the sky was red. But _this_… he couldn’t believe _this_, because believing it would have meant that Byleth had spent her birthday alone in that cold house, eating alone, sleeping alone, waiting for his promised return.

He remembered her excited expression, her shy smiles as they had prepared to go home. She had probably expected a surprise, a private party between them, something special. Instead, he had left her _alone_.

Edelgard took the miniature calendar she kept on her desk and showed it to him, pointing at the current day. He felt like dying. He had lost track of the time and had miscalculated.

“Seriously, Hubert.” she said with a tired sigh. “What are you doing?”

“I…” He clenched his jaw to keep the scream building in his throat inside. He bowed quickly.

“With your permission.”

He ran out of the room, not noticing how wet his eyes felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Hubert's S Support with Byleth in Japanese and he's SO SWEET AND TIMID ; A ; 
> 
> Many lines are so different from the English version, I can't believe Treehouse changed them ;_; He is completely FLABBERGASTED when Byleth accepts his proposal and he's super happy and shy when she gives him the ring. So he truly is 100% confirmed to be an adorable dork <3
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the new tags ;_;

He rode so fast that the poor horse from the stables was frothing from its mouth when they finally arrived at House Vestra.

Hubert’s mind was empty. He had no plan in mind, no great words to use, no explanations, no excuses. He ran like a haunted man into the house’s foyer, scaring the life out of the servants there.

“Where is the Countess?” he asked, his voice barely recognizable. He could see the look of shock and fear on the maids’ faces; they didn’t dare approach him, afraid of his reaction. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall and understood why they were so frightened. He looked like a demon, his eyes bloodshot, his skin paler than ever, wet with the dampness of the cold night air.

They told him the Countess was sleeping in their quarters. He ran there, ready to throw himself at her feet. He wouldn’t ask for forgiveness – he didn’t deserve it. He would accept her just ire and whatever would come next.

He stopped in front of the doors of their bedroom. He couldn’t hear any sound beyond them, no sobs, no hiccups. But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t cried and he braced himself for her tearful gaze that surely awaited him.

But he was wrong. As he slowly opened the doors and peered inside the room, his eyes didn’t find the exhausted form of his wife in bed nor her face full of sadness and disappointment. Instead, he saw her sitting in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

“Hubert! Welcome home!” she exclaimed with a _happy_, _blinding _smile. She rose from the carpet and went to him, pressing a kiss on his open mouth.

“What’s that face for?” she giggled, fixing his unruly hair. Worry creased her beautiful features. “You look exhausted. How was the meeting? I’m sorry I insisted for you to stay, I had no idea it would last this long!”

“You…” He swallowed, starting to shake. “_You _are sorry?”

She looked up at him with her big eyes. There were still stars in them. His sparrow was not hurt, but…

But that was _impossible._

He closed the doors, never looking away from her. He felt like puking – _he didn’t deserve her_.

“_I _am the one who is sorry! The only one that has to be sorry!” His voice rose, not in anger, but despair and sorrow. “Byleth, I… I left you alone the day of your birthday!”

She smiled at him, not an ounce of anger or blame on her face. The urges to hug her and tear out his own hair grew within him.

“It’s alright, Hubert. I know as well as you do how busy life at court is.” She took his hand and kissed it, the hand with the ring. It burned his finger as though it was a scorching piece of iron wrapped around his flesh.

“Is this why you look so sad? Hubert, I swear it, I really didn’t mind.” Her next smile was shy and encouraging. “We can still celebrate tonight, if you want.”

He pulled back his hand from her gentle grip, shaking his head.

“I read the calendar incorrectly.” he admitted. He _needed _to tell her the true extents of his error, of his terrible mistake. She needed to know what a horrible man – what a _horrible husband _– he was.

“I thought your birthday was next week. Even if we had come home together, there would haven’t been any party, any celebration, because I prepared _nothing_ for today.” He bit back a sob, a strangled, half-formed, ugly thing that was stuck in his throat.

“Hubert.” Her voice was soft and calming, her hands open, ready to welcome him. “Hubert, it’s alright, I understand. I don’t mind.”

“Well, you _should_.” he hissed, moving away from her. How could she forgive him so easily, so readily? Where were her rage, her sadness, her regret at having married a failure of a man like him?

“I… I hurt you. I know I did.” he continued, moving backwards towards the bed. She followed him and he kept running away.

_Coward._

“I saw how happy and excited you were this morning and I still didn’t understand. I was given a packet for you and I _still _didn’t remember the current day.” His breath came out too fast and loud and concern and panic appeared in Byleth’s eyes. He didn’t deserve that.

“And then I… I _left you alone_, for the whole day! And you are being so kind, when you should be furious!”

“Why do you want me to be mad at you at all costs?” Her voice was quiet, a delicate whisper that lingered in the air. He glared at her.

“Why? _Why? _Because it would be _right_!” He walked to the window, a hand on his mouth. He looked at the darkness outside, at the outline of the trees in the distance, but didn’t really see them.

“Hubert…”

“I made a mistake.” he continued, turning to her with haunted eyes and a tight jaw, his whole body shaking. She looked beautiful in the other nightgown she was wearing that night, too, a grey one with heart-shaped buttons. He couldn’t believe a month had passed since their happy night spent in that same room.

“It isn’t such a big mistake.” she tried again, but he glared at her and hissed: “_It is_.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.”

Byleth managed to approach him before he could move away. There was a plea in her eyes and she grasped his hand so tightly, he felt two or three bones pop.

“Hubert, please, stop believing this! Nothing bad happened, you mustn’t feel like this about it!”

“You should be sulking, pouting, _shouting _at me.” he murmured, feeling cold all over. He couldn’t accept her forgiveness and understanding, not for that. He had disrespected her too much this time.

“You can’t tell me how to act about this.” This time, she glared at him, tugging at his hand. “It’s my choice whether to be angry at you or not. And I’m _not _angry at you, Hubert. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I didn’t, but that doesn’t make my error any less serious.”

He freed his hand and moved away from her again. He felt like he would sully her just by being near her. One month ago, he had promised her he would be a good husband. No, he had _sworn_ it.

And now, he had ruined everything. He had already forgotten her birthday – what other mistakes would he make in the future? What else would he forget and miss? In what new ways would he hurt her, she who had always walked by his side, shared his dream, and trusted him?

“Please, Byleth.” he begged her, his face breaking into despair. “Don’t look at me like that. Just… Just tell me to go.”

“Why?” There were tears in her eyes. He had made her cry. “Why do you want to be punished so badly? Why cannot you accept what I’m telling you?”

\- - -

_“Father!” Hubert cried, while his father dragged him across the hall by his hair. “Father, please! Anything but that room!”_

_“I’m disappointed, Hubert. I taught you how to handle correctly all types of glasses when serving the Imperial family, but you broke Lady Edelgard’s all the same, like a fool.”_

_“Please forgive me! I didn’t do it on purpose! It slipped from my hand and…” _

_“That”_ _his father hissed, suddenly stopping and looking at him with furious eyes, “is an excuse. There are _no _excuses for your clumsiness. House Vestra must be perfect in all ways for the Emperor.”_

_“It was only a glass!”_

_Panic had made him say that, but he instantly regretted it. His father twisted his grip, pulling his hair so hard Hubert shouted out in pain and instinctively reached for his father’s hand to pry it away._

_“Only a glass?” The man growled, his yellow-green eyes drilling a hole into his very soul. They were so alike his own, the colour and shape almost identical – Hubert hated it._

_“It was not ‘only’ a glass. If not corrected soon, it may well be the prelude to much more serious mistakes.” Another painful pull, another shout, then they were walking again. “And the Emperor has no need for them.”_

_“Please! Not here!”_

_They had stopped in front of a narrow door at the end of the corridor. It was rarely opened, but whenever it was, every nerve in Hubert’s body would get tense, so much he felt like being prickled by thousands of needles. _

_There was only an unused guest room beyond that piece of rotting reddish wood. But for a six years old child, it was a nightmare. His father never allowed him any light when he was pushed in there. He would have to wait in silence, surrounded by complete darkness; he couldn’t even move too much, if he didn’t want to get hurt, since there was still furniture inside._

_“Father, forgive me!” he sobbed as he was thrown inside. His head hurt terribly and he could feel the area above his right eye throb where his father had hit him before dragging him there. But he would rather be beaten again than stay in that room where his eyes could discern nothing._

_“Quit your snivelling.” his father told him from the door. “You know you deserve this punishment for your foolishness.” _

_He was only a shadow, the light behind him obscuring his face. A shadow promising what was to come. _

_“I won’t do it ever again! I swear it!” _

_“Get used to the darkness, Hubert. Remember, House Vestra works in it.”_

_The door closed and was locked and Hubert could see no more. He stood there, breathing loudly, trying to catch as much air as possible. His lungs felt on fire and his throat was raw, his mouth dry. _

_He was shaking all over, his teeth chattering, his knees wobbling. He stood there, too scared too move, for a terribly long time; after a while, his eyes got somewhat used to that thick darkness, but he could only see faint figures and outlines which made the entire room even more terrifying._

_“I won’t do it ever again…” he murmured, wrapping his arms around himself, staring at the point where he thought the door was. He just had to wait – it would open, sooner or later, and then he would be free, free of those shadows that made him think about death and corpses. _

_“Ever again…” he promised, staring and staring, barely blinking, until his eyes burned. “I will be perfect, I swear it. I won’t do it ever again…”_

\- - -

“Hubert?”

He was startled by her voice. He fixed his eyes on her, his chest heaving as he breathed through his nose. He hadn’t thought about that event in a long time. Why did his father always haunt him whenever he was with Byleth?

“Hubert, are you alright?” She was worried, worried for him, and her eyes were still wet. Her hands reached for him, her petite, strong, bare hands. He caught them in his gloved ones, a barrier between them that didn’t allow for any physical contact.

“_Please_.” He would not cry. He would not hurt her again. “Please, tell me to go.”

“You want to be punished at all costs.” She sounded angry, now, that sort of anger caused by anguish. He looked away, like the coward he was.

“It is what I deserve.”

“Then, I expect to be punished, too, when I will make a mistake.” she said and those words made his head snap up. He looked at her again, shock on his face.

“No!”

“Why? Why only you have to be punished? It doesn’t make sense.” Her anger grew, but it was the wrong kind of anger, the kind he hadn’t expected. She was angry because she was worried for him and he _didn’t deserve that kindness_.

“I make mistakes, too, but you want only yourself to bear the consequences of your errors! Why?”

“That is not true.” He glared at her, towering over her, his grip around her hands tighter.

“Yes, _it is!_”

“Why are _you _so adamant in not admitting I hurt you?!” He felt like going mad. He didn’t understand this situation at all, it didn’t make sense to him. He had expected her to react in a certain way, to things to go differently; he had prepared himself for a specific situation and this certainly wasn’t it.

There were too much warmth and love in it, despite the horrible offense and disappointment he had procured her. Where was his rightful punishment for it?

“Because you _didn’t _hurt me!” She raised her voice as well and she locked her fingers with his, their hands palm against palm. He shivered and tried to free himself, but she was strong, incredibly so.

“Let me leave.” he murmured. “Please, I deserve it.” He had wanted it to sound like a request, but it left his mouth sounding more like a prayer.

“Will I get punished, too, if I make a mistake?”

“_No._”

Tears came back into her eyes and he couldn’t look away this time.

“Should we have any children, will they get punished, too?”

“_No!_”

He saw the tall figure of his father dragging him along the corridor again, but it wasn’t really his father: it was him, his gloved hand gripping a faceless child’s blue hair. His soul got filled with horror and disgust.

A tear ran down his cheek and Byleth gasped, realization shining on her face.

“Hubert…!” She let his hands go and he was about to run out of the room; but she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly, all air left him.

“See? I just said the wrong thing.” she murmured into his neck, her voice shaking and filled with tears. “Hubert, please, forgive me.”

“Don’t… don’t say that. Please.”

His hands hovered over her back, but he didn’t dare touch her. Everything was so confusing, _he _was so confused, and he felt sorry and guilty, ashamed and angry, lost and found at the same time.

“You will never be like your father.” she swore, taking his face in her hands and staring at him with a so intense gaze he couldn’t look away. “You are not like him, Hubert.”

“I…”

“You are allowed to make mistakes. And you are allowed to say you’re sorry, to ask for forgiveness and receive it.” She pressed her lips on his and his hands finally dug into her nightgown, while a pained sound left his throat.

“Oh, Hubert, love.” She stroked his wet cheeks. He couldn’t see her well through the veil of tears, but he could feel her hot breath on his face and admire the glint of her eyes thanks to the fire.

“Remember what you told me in the Cathedral of the Monastery? We are humans and we must fight for our humanity.” She started pressing light, soft kisses on his face and he had to bite his lips until they almost bled to stop himself from sobbing out loud.

“Hubert, humans make mistakes. It is perfectly normal.” She smiled at him, that same smile full of love and compassion that made him believe something holy existed in the world after all. “And I won’t love you less if you make them.”

He swallowed the lump of tears that had formed in his throat, but it quickly returned, replaced by another. He pulled her closer, every nerve of his body screaming at him to hold her until they would fuse and become one.

“Ask me.” she whispered, gently moving his bang a bit to uncover his right eye. “Ask me and I will give it to you.”

He felt his father’s painful grip on his head, twisting and pulling until his young body was writhing in agony. He heard his cold, detached voice as he ordered him not to utter a word, for they were unnecessary and wouldn’t help him one bit. What was done was done – he couldn’t escape from what he rightfully deserved so easily.

But his father was _dead_, he remembered. He was dead and he, Hubert, was not. He was alive and he was with his wife, the day of her birthday, both crying because of an error he had made. But she was smiling at him and her touch was tender. There were no shadows, here, only light.

He wasn’t blind anymore.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, clinging to her with all his might. “I’m sorry I read the date wrong. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Then, he took a deep, shaky breath and said: “Please forgive me.”

Byleth’s smile grew and she nodded, kissed him, and replied: “It’s alright, Hubert. I forgive you.”

He let out a short, relieved sound, a mix between a laugh and a sigh. He brushed his lips on her cheek, her nose, then her mouth. And then he hid his face on her shoulder and started crying, quietly and shyly, not used to doing it.

She held him, sniffing from time to time. She stroked his back and hair until he calmed down a bit; she convinced him to change for the night and go to bed with her. She helped him with his pants and gloves and cape, since his hands were shaking a lot, and when he finally was ready, she tucked him under the covers before joining him.

It had been a simple, short act of pampering, but it was everything to him. Nobody had ever fluffed his pillow or fixed a lapel of his uniform or helped him prepare for the night.

She pulled him into her arms and placed his head on her chest. They had been in that position only once, a month ago, but it was as though they had slept like that for years.

“I love you.” she said softly, kissing his hair, and he held her tightly, drained, but strong, weak, but reborn.

“I love you, too.”

He fell asleep lulled by the sound of her heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay to cry, Hubert ; v ; 
> 
> I SWEAR THEY WILL MAKE LOVE SOON


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new rating and tags ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The sound of rain woke him up.

It was a calming sound that almost lulled him back to sleep. The fire still burning strong in the fireplace had kept the room warm and Byleth, still holding him against her chest, was sleeping peacefully.

He felt cleaned, as though years and years of filth had been washed away by the tears he had shed the night before. His limbs felt a bit heavy, his chest hurt, but all in a good way. It was the same feeling one would feel after training with magic for the first time after a very long time; aching, yes, but also breathing better and thinking more clearly.

He quietly pulled away from Byleth’s embrace. He sat up and watched her with puffy eyes, admiring her content expression and the rise and fall of her body. The diamond ring shone on her finger and the light of the fire made her lips look pinker.

He bent down to press a soft kiss on her mouth before getting up and leaving the room.

The servants had never seen him walk barefooted and in his nightclothes. He would usually leave his quarters looking at his best, his attire a pristine example of perfection, his eyes and voice devoid of any hint of sleep as though he hadn’t rested for even one minute.

Today, he appeared in front of them with messy hair, red-rimmed eyes, and wrinkled nightclothes, the floor under his feet so cold it burned them. One of the maids gawked at him while another, an old woman, stared at him as though he was an intruder, a stranger.

“Please, prepare breakfast for my wife and I.” he said slowly, his voice deeper than usual. He frowned at the wall beyond the two maids, thinking. “She likes milk and sweets. Prepare some Lavender and Rose-Petal tea as well and remember to bring much sugar. Oh, and some eggs.”

He knew how big her appetite was and he wanted that meal to be a feast, to give her what he hadn’t been able to give her the previous day. He listed all the sweets he could think of, asked the maids if they would have enough time, and when they replied positively, he thanked them and headed to the room where the cape for her was hidden.

All the servants he came across wished him good morning with wide eyes, stopping dead in their tracks and watching him go as if he was some kind of ghost. He politely ignored them, no trace of shame, self-consciousness, or embarrassment in his heart.

He returned to his and Byleth’s bedroom with the cape carefully folded in his arms, wrapped in a cotton bundle. He placed it on the bed, where Byleth was still sleeping, and then he got to work: he moved the small table in front of the fireplace like a month ago, lit the candles in the all the candelabra he could find in the room, and put one at the centre of the table.

Since it was raining, he couldn’t bring the birthday party outside, where colourful plants were, so he decided to take them inside instead. He hummed softly, trying to recall where the best ones were.

The garden around House Vestra had never been cultivated for beauty, but for practical purposes only; poisons and concoctions of any kind could be made from the flora there, but his deep knowledge told him that those same flowers whose cooked stems could kill a grown man were absolutely harmless if simply used for decoration.

He put on his boots and cape and went outside, scaring more servants. He knew he probably looked like a fool, but he couldn’t find in his heart the strength to care. It was not like the reputation of cold man he possessed and used for work would be tarnished by gossip like that – and even then, he would prove to any arrogant adversary that Hubert Von Vestra could be dangerous _and _go pick flowers for his wife at the same time, one not excluding the other. In fact, pampering his wife should have been considered his greatest source of strength.

“My lord…” an old mage servant stammered as he opened the door that led to the garden. “Shouldn’t you… shouldn’t you wear warmer clothes for such a weather?”

“I only need to collect some flowers.”

“Oh, I can send one of the alchemists of the house! However, we might still have the herbs you need in the basement – if you told me the ingredients, I would be happy to look for you, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes at the servant, who gulped and stood straighter, aware he had spoken out of line, but not understanding about what.

“I need flowers, not herbs for a poison. It is a gift for my wife.” Then he dismissed the old man with a nod of his head and a curt “You may go”.

The elder man obeyed immediately – as soon as he was back in the servants’ quarters, he told all his colleagues how deeply marriage had changed Count Vestra. Many didn’t believe him when he said the master was currently picking flowers in the garden under the pouring rain; but when he convinced them to follow him and watch the Count from behind the windows, partially hidden, they had to agree with him.

“Who knew that young, petite lady had it in her.” a middle-aged mage woman whispered with amusement as they observed Hubert ponder over which flowers to take. They groaned when he moved near a group of plain daisies, but cheered quietly when he changed his mind and chose some elegant, exotic flowers from Dagda instead.

In the end, though, he _also_ took the daisies and added them to the bouquet already forming in his hands. They looked ugly amidst the others, small and timid and all crooked, but he handled them with extreme care as if they were some rare sample from Brigid to study.

“Well…” the oldest maid of the house mumbled. “He’ll learn. These things take time.”

\- - -

Once he got back to the bedroom, he went to the comfort room, filled every vase he could find with water and put the flowers in them. They were still dripping from the rain, as he was, but he was sure they would get dry soon enough thanks to the warmth of the near fireplace.

He removed his boots and cape and tossed them in a basket used for the laundry; he changed into dry nightclothes, not wanting to wear anything less comfortable for that day, and patiently waited for the maids to bring breakfast.

He did that while watching Byleth, still sleeping. She was slightly snoring and his love for her was so strong he felt like crying again. He would turn soft and delicate as the flowers he had picked whenever he was around her – but he didn’t mind it. He loved it, in fact, and he basked in that feeling so unknown to him, so unfamiliar and exciting.

He felt a new man, but also the same. It was as though Byleth had unlocked a door hidden in the darkest, most unreachable part of his soul, a door beyond which a part of his true self had been locked away in the dark, never to resurface and claim its own right to exist.

But it had been freed, now. He was free and so was she. Free together, in the large sky full of songs and colours.

The maids knocked on the door half an hour later. They had brought all he had requested on three wheeled tables, as per rule. He thanked them and pushed them inside, closing the door softly to avoid waking Byleth. He knew, though, that the delicious aroma of all that food would soon reach her.

He sat on the bed and started watching her again. He smiled when she stirred and sniffed the air; he chuckled softly when she tentatively opened one eye, clearly interested in what she had smelled; he snorted and put a hand on his mouth, turning his head, to hold back his laugh when her stomach rumbled.

“Food!” she gasped softly, sitting up, then she turned to him with a bright smile. “Hubert, honey! Is all that for us?”

“It is mainly for you.” He scooted closer to her, finally as brave as he always was on the battlefield. He was sure he could fight and defeat a Demonic Beast with his bare hands in that very moment, so invincible and lucky he felt.

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, and she returned the kiss with so much enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Happy birthday, my little sparrow.” he murmured against her lips.

He once had thought Lady Edelgard’s coronation to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; then he had seen Byleth in her wedding dress and had quickly changed opinion. But now, he changed his mind again, for her bright, overjoyed smile, starry eyes, and pink cheeks were a wondrous sight, a masterpiece meant for his eyes only.

“Thank you.” She kissed him again and he nuzzled her nose, eliciting a giggle from her.

“I’m sorry for… for what happened yesterday.” he started, a small frown on his face. Then he smiled as well and held her more tightly. “But I’m also thankful and incredibly happy. It has been an… important experience, for both of us.” He cleared his throat, blushing. “I believe?”

“Yes, it has.” she confirmed, reassuring him with her soft laugh he adored. “I’m glad we had that conversation, Hubert.”

“I…” He turned to the wrapped cape and cleared his throat again. “I have something for you. Lady Edelgard gave me a gift for you as well, yesterday, but…” He squeezed her hand, a gentle, pleading look on his face, that face that had never plead for anything since his early childhood. “May I be selfish and give you mine first?”

“Of course, love.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She gasped when she unwrapped the cape. He shyly watched every minute change of expression on her face, blushing, and when she threw her arms around him and cried a little, thanking him with a shaky voice, he refused to let her go for several minutes.

“It’s _so beautiful_.” she kept repeating, studying every single detail, caressing it as though it was a living creature, pressing her mouth and nose on it to smell its scent. She put it on with his help and stared at the mirror with her mouth hanging open, moving this way and the other to better see her back.

“And it’s so warm! Oh, look, the birds shine in the light!”

She kissed him repeatedly and he laughed under the assault, that siege that gave him joy for it gave it to her, too. She removed the cape and folded it carefully before putting it inside their wardrobe, saying how she had never owned a mantle so beautiful before.

“Life as a mercenary wasn’t always simple. Sometimes we had to reuse and sew back some of our clothes.”

“Is there…” He paused, not knowing what the best, most tactful way to ask it was. “Is there anything in particular you would like?”

“Oh, no!” she laughed, taking his hand. “As long as I have you and a bit of food, I don’t need anything else.”

He let out a sharp, shaky breath. He had to look away, at the table laden with food, to stop himself from combusting on the spot and bursting into tears. Byleth seemed to realize it, for she pressed a loud kiss on his cheek. He squeezed her hand.

She noticed the large quantity of flowers all around. She went to every bouquet in every vase, gasping at the blinding gems of dew and rain on the leaves, at the soft, pastel-coloured petals, at their raw beauty. Her favourite ones were the daisies, she said, because one could make the best flower crowns from them and her father had used to make those for her when she was a child.

“Hubert! Did you go out in the rain to pick them? Is that why your hair is so damp?”

He nodded with a shy, but proud smile, letting her fuss over him and brush his still humid locks with her small hands. His own hands rested on her waist and his piercing eyes never left her face as she scolded him with a pout full of love.

She was ravenous and ate with great appetite, putting a bit of everything on her plate and moaning happily every time she took a bite. He sipped his coffee with a big smile and they held hands on the table for the whole time, serving each other when the other wanted something in particular.

He tried some of the sweets and had to admit they were pleasant, but he didn’t eat many, wanting to leave them for Byleth. She tasted a bit of his coffee, but made a weird face and asked for milk to refresh her mouth, making him laugh.

They talked about everything, any barrier he had created around himself now destroyed. They were simply a man and a woman in love, husband and wife who enjoyed a comfy and relaxing rainy morning together. At a certain point, they even fed each other and even though gestures like that still embarrassed him, he found that he couldn’t live without them, now.

After finishing what they could – he truly had requested a feast for an army -, they brought the wheeled tables outside and quickly returned to the comfort of their room. Byleth remembered to open the present Edelgard had got for her – it was a lovely white cravat, ruffled and silky like a cloud. They both agreed it was a beautiful gift and Byleth hung it inside the wardrobe, ready to be worn.

“Thank you for this wonderful day.” She curled against his side as they lie down on their huge bed. “It was the best birthday party I ever had.”

His reply was a relieved kiss, after which she sighed.

“I guess we will need to get to work soon, though. I still have to compile some reports and study the best formations for the army’s battalions and…”

Hubert rested a hand upon hers, his gaze soft and timid, but also confident and firm.

“Why don’t we rest for today? Consider it a vacation, a day off we earned after working so hard in the past month.”

She stared at him, quiet, then she narrowed her eyes and asked very slowly: “Are you a Slitherer?”

He chuckled, locking their fingers together; she kept glaring at him, really suspicious.

“Who are you? What did you do to my Hubert?”

“Do you really think I would let those monsters capture me and put my darling sparrow in danger?”

He tapped her nose and she scrunched it up like a rabbit, making him laugh again. She hummed, pretending not to be entirely convinced, and he offered her his face for her to touch as she saw most fit.

She prodded it, pinched it, poked it, _licked _it, then announced: “Nope, you’re still my Hubert. Not even a Slitherer could replicate that taste of pure coffee you got on your skin.”

“I’m glad I was able to convince you. I wouldn’t have enjoyed being skewered by your sword.”

“But still, I never thought I’d have heard you pronounce the word ‘rest’! I thought only Linhardt was allowed to say it in the Black Eagles Strike Force, as a special concession from Edelgard!”

He gave her a mischievous, playful smile, pulling her closer.

“As Minister of the Imperial Household, I hereby give ourselves permission to _rest _and _relax _as much as we want today.”

Byleth gasped, bringing her hands to her cheeks in fake shock. He snorted and laughed, finding immense pleasure in their banter and game.

“What did they do to you, Hubert? Are you poisoned? Ill? Has the rain got to you?”

“I might change my mind, if you keep mocking me so.” He hesitated for a second before pinching her butt. She gasped again, this time in real surprise – and… _pleasure?_ he thought, hopeful.

She moved her hands to his chest. The shirt he was wearing now was looser, slightly open on the front, and she seized that chance to touch his skin. He swallowed hard, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears deafening that of the rain still falling outside.

“Byleth.” he whispered, shaking all over. He felt hot and cold again, a now familiar sensation.

“I’d love to rest and relax with you all day.” she said, her voice equally soft, her eyes even softer. He felt himself drowning in them, an abyss of light and sky. Why couldn’t he be so poetic out loud? Why couldn’t he tell her how much he loved her, how strong his feelings for her were?

He hoped she knew all the same, that she was aware of it every day.

“But what I’d love even more,” she continued, her fingertips reaching the base of his neck where his pulse was, “is to make love to you, my good husband.”

He flushed red at those words and a huge smile opened on his face like a blossom. She grinned at the sight, cupping his cheeks and stroking his high, sharp cheekbones. He had never considered his angular face to be handsome, but _she _made him feel beautiful and charming and he hoped – _prayed_, he didn’t even know who or what – that he was able to make her feel the same.

“I would love that immensely as well, my dear wife.”

They removed their nightclothes and touched each other’s naked body like they had done a month ago. They were both trembling, excited, nervous, and a little scared, but they were together and there was nothing they couldn’t do.

They gradually relaxed the more they explored each other’s form. She especially loved his chest and hands and she kissed them thoroughly; he loved hers, too, but he felt a particular attraction towards her thighs, soft and squishy, full of scars he kissed and licked. He moved closer to her most intimate place while massaging her breasts, that sacred spot hidden between blueish curls.

“Byleth…” he murmured, looking up at her as she breathed heavily, clutching the sheets. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Me neither.” she giggled, caressing his hair. “Just… kiss it, maybe?”

“Oh, yes.” He leaned it, his neck a scarlet stain on his pale body. “_Yes_, absolutely.”

She tasted sweet and bitter, like the most intoxicating, peculiar coffee. He knew he was clumsy with his tongue and lips and he didn’t find that hidden nub that he had heard so much about right away, but her moans and sounds of pleasure quickly increased in volume and speed.

“Hubert…!” she gasped, now clutching his hair as he brushed his tongue across her pink outer lips. He was rutting and bucking against the bed, not knowing how else to release the heat pooling in his groin, his cock hard between his stomach and the mattress.

He groaned into her, holding her open with his fingers to better lick her inside. She kept calling his name, gasping and groaning, until she keened and tensed up, pushing harder against his face. He felt her pleasure pour out and he drank it, moaning with her when his nose brushed against her nub and sent another jolt of bliss up her limbs.

He kept licking it – he wanted to give her all the pleasure he could -, but she suddenly stopped him by gently tugging at his hair and making a sound of discomfort. He immediately crawled up to her, watching her with wide, panicked eyes.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no.” She smiled at him, hazy and spent. “It’s just become very sensitive down there.”

“Oh.” He lied down at her side, rubbing her arm and waiting for her to regain her breath. “Did I… overstimulate you?”

“I believe so, yes. There is something there…”

“I…” He cleared his throat, stubbornly staring at her collarbone instead of her eyes, his cheeks as red as tomatoes. “I saw it and licked it. It looks like a small pearl.”

“Mh.” She frowned, lost in thoughts. Then: “Does it look like an oyster, then, with this pearl inside?”

“No. Well… It’s more like… a… _Mh_.” He tried to describe it to her, babbling and refusing to use his hands to replicate the exact shape. Byleth listened intently, intrigued, until he finished and hid his face into the pillow, groaning loudly.

“Could you draw it for me? I’m curious, now!”

“I’d rather _die_.”

“Rude! How can you refuse to draw your wife’s pussy?”

His head sprang up from the pillow and he gawked at her, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. He chose the latter and she immediately joined him, nestling against his side.

“Seriously! Why do you want to see how it is so badly?”

“I want to know where you will enter me from.”

“I suppose we could use a mirror… wait, what do you mean?”

“A woman in my father’s mercenary group once told me we have two holes down there. One for sex and one for peeing.”

He felt a shiver of dread ran up his spine and he gaped at her in horror. He had seen and kissed only one, he was sure of it. He had been lost in the pleasure as much as she had, that was true, but he would have noticed _two _entrances. But what if he was wrong and would hurt her?

Why had he never read or heard about that? Why wasn’t all that better taught?

“Oh, Hubert!” she giggled, pulling him into her arms until his face was squished against her chest. “I’m joking! I mean, we _do _have two holes, but the one for peeing is way smaller than the other! You won’t get it wrong.”

“But…”

“I was terrified, too, when that mercenary told me. But she assured me it’s impossible for them to get mixed up. Also…” She raised his head and smiled at him, her dimpled cheeks doing wonders to his heart. “She said that it would feel perfect, as long as the two partners loved each other. And I love you so very much, Hubert.”

He sniffed and pouted, pushing back tears.

“That was a cruel joke.”

“I’m sorry.” she giggled again, before reaching down between his legs. His cock was still half-hard, despite the great fright, and he gasped out in surprise and pleasure. His hands grasped her shoulders as she stroke him up and down, her beautiful, reassuring smile his anchor, his lifeline.

“Byleth.” he panted, rocking into her touch. “Sparrow.”

“Hubert.” She squeezed his cock, making him moan. “Honey.”

She was clumsy, too, and had to stop multiple times to find the right rhythm. Sometimes she squeezed too hard and he let her know by kissing her; when the pleasure was just right, he moaned against her neck instead, licking it and pressing tickling pecks on it.

“Please…” he murmured when he realized his orgasm was approaching. “Please, let me… let me come inside you.”

She lied on her back and he gingerly settled himself between her legs. Every muscle in his body felt raw with desire and the wish to make it perfect for her like she had heard from that mercenary. He gulped and then gently pinned her hand down, intertwining his fingers with hers until they were holding hands.

“Hubert.” she called softly, smiling brightly at him. He smiled back and leaned down until his forehead touched hers.

“Ready?” he asked, nuzzling her nose for the second time that day. He liked doing it, it was a sweet gesture that he hoped she appreciated, too. Judging from the way her face lighted up, it seemed she did.

“I’m ready.”

He slowly, so very slowly entered her. She was tight and he felt a thin barrier break when he kept pushing in. A slightly pained expression creased her face and he stopped immediately, but she soon relaxed again and nodded at him, her smile back on her face.

It was their first time and their pace was a bit irregular, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. But they laughed and joked and held each other tightly, sharing moans and kisses, asking questions, wondering about this and that.

Was that how a married couple was supposed to have sex? Hubert didn’t know, but he was sure that was how it was supposed to make love. And even if it wasn’t, it was _their _way of making love to each other, their personal, beautiful way, with Byleth giggling and moaning happily in his ear and he laughing like had never laughed before and groaning with his mouth pressed on hers.

“I love you.” he told her when she came in his arms.

“I love you.” she told him when he came inside her.

And as they rested in each other’s embrace, lulled by each other’s heartbeat and the rain, he thought that perhaps there was still hope for him to be the good husband she deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two dorks finally did the do. I'm sorry if my smut sounds awkward, it's not my strong point, I fear ಥ‿ಥ I also had some health problems while writing this, so let me know if there are weird typos ahsdjfdjg
> 
> Also, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ScarletLavellan) and [Tumblr](https://lafaiette.tumblr.com/)! I mostly retweet/reblog stuff, but I also enjoy posting my thoughts and experiences about my fandoms - my DMs are always open, so feel free to contact me if you want to chat ( ´ ▽ ` )
> 
> Thank you again for all your kind comments!!


	7. Chapter 7

They fell into a comfortable, blissful domestic routine after that day.

They would work during the morning, both sitting in the study that had been only Hubert’s once, and which now housed two ornate desks and more bookshelves.

He had used to work tirelessly and relentlessly for the whole day, until his eyes burned and the sun outside was no more. But now that Byleth was with him, he made sure to add more breaks and pauses to their schedule, knowing his routine to be nearly harmful, even for someone who had been a brilliant and punctual teacher.

After taking care of paperwork, they would retire to their rooms – _their _rooms, he reminded himself every time he could, smiling softly – or go to the garden, where he had asked the servants to bring a round table and some chairs. She loved sitting there to admire the flowers while sipping tea – if the weather allowed it, they also worked there, their legs tangled under the table, their hands touching on its smooth surface.

When it rained, the manor became particularly cold, even more than usual. Byleth admitted she wasn’t really used to the strong winds that came from the sea, so they decided they would move to their bedroom whenever the frigid gusts became too much for her. The fact that what had once been his quarters could give her so much comfort made Hubert feel proud – it was as though he was giving her another gift, protecting her in a subtle, but effective way.

They ate their meals in there as well. The other rooms of the estate that had witnessed so many dark things and so little love now became simply unused, always cleaned and dusted, but barely visited. They had no use for them, Hubert realized – as long as they had their cosy bedroom, their garden, and the kitchens and basement for the servants and alchemists to work in, they didn’t need anything else.

However, one day she surprised him – like she always did, after all.

The rooms that had most suffered under the war and the passing of time had been fully renovated and the whole manor was clean again, light reaching corners Hubert hadn’t even known to exist. He found her in a painfully familiar corridor, looking at a barred reddish door.

“The servants told me this is a guest room.” she said as she sensed his approach. He nodded, but realized she couldn’t see him, so he said, his voice low and hoarse: “It is.”

He hoped she wouldn’t ask him why it was barred. He had done it himself, after his father’s death – a coward’s move, but a necessary one if he wanted not to lose his mind and composure in that house.

She didn’t ask him. She simply kept staring at the wooden boards, at the rotting door behind them, at the discoloured wooden tiles of the floor. Then she shook her head with a sigh.

“I don’t like it. It gives me a bad feeling.”

He swallowed and moved a bit closer to her, always keeping an eye on the door, as though it could burst open in a second, his father waiting for him just beyond it, in the darkness.

But he was stronger, now. With Byleth at his side, he could do anything.

He walked until he was close to her enough to take her hand. She squeezed his and they stood in front of the menacing door, a relic of a past that deserved to be eliminated and forgotten.

Maybe they could refurnish it, he thought. Would that break the curse he felt had been cast on him? A different purpose for that room might help him go there again and slowly, but steadily pry his father’s cold hands away from his hair, that painful grip that still haunted him.

But no matter how much that room changed, no matter the colour of its walls and the different furniture inside, he knew he would never be comfortable in it. He hoped Byleth would understand and visit it alone for whatever activity she wished to transform it for.

“I know I said I don’t want to change this place too much or make too big renovations, but…” She turned to him with a concerned look on her beautiful face. “Would… Would you mind it if we tore it down? I don’t even want to see what the room looks like, I just want it gone.”

His eyes widened in surprise and shock and she thought he was appalled by the idea.

“I’m sorry!” Her face was flushed red. “Is it an important place for you?”

“_No_.”

She realized it, then, and anguish and guilt appeared in her eyes, those eyes he had once deemed cold and suspicious, but which now gave him only joy and respite.

“I’m sorry, I…”

He smiled at her, strong and bold like he was on the battlefield or in the questioning rooms for the prisoners. He was becoming better at showing her his love for her, too, and she wasn’t surprised by his smiles and acts of love anymore.

“You are right, we should tear it down. Remove it completely from the house and let it burn far from here, so that the fetid smoke of all it contains won’t reach us.” He kissed her knuckles, watching happily her blush reach her ears. “You always have brilliant ideas, my sparrow. Thank you.”

Later that night, he told her everything his parents had done to him. He told her things he had not even told Lady Edelgard; he told her things he had not even admitted to himself before, like his desire to kill his father when he was still a young boy.

Byleth cried for him, while he remained composed and strong to help her calm down and reassure her. Crying with her like he had done the fateful night of her birthday had been a balm for his soul, but he felt the urge, the deep need to take care of her emotions, her feelings, that beating heart whose skips and jumps still scared her sometimes.

“I have you now, my sparrow.” he told her, whispering gently in their flower-perfumed bedroom, as she sniffled against his chest. Once, he would have refused her sorrow, mistaking it for sympathy. He would have dismissed his suffering as a necessary sacrifice, a simple step in the path that would lead Lady Edelgard to her rightful role as the ruler of Fòdlan.

But now, he felt lucky and comforted to have someone he could confess his pain to, someone he could trust completely, someone he could listen to and comfort in return when her pain for the death of her father – still so recent _for her _– became too much.

It was a symbiotic relationship, the one they had – for the first time in his life, he didn’t just take (a life, a scream, a trembling promise out of someone) and he didn’t just receive (orders, a purpose bathed in blood, a praise from his Emperor); he could do both, give and receive at the same time, and each gift he donated and received was a luminous star that planted itself on his black heart, turning its charcoal-like shape into a radiant sun.

\- - -

He and Byleth became inseparable.

They woke up together, ate together, worked together, lived and breathed together. He got better at expressing his love, both with words and gestures. His self-consciousness and slight embarrassment in front of other people would never really go away, they were aware of that, but Byleth found it adorable and irresistible.

He was his usual ghastly, menacing, creepy self at court. Everyone in the Empire knew about him, about his unsettling ways, his grins and laughter, the merciless ways he acted out the orders given him.

“I may not look like it, but I am actually quite proficient with this.” he once told a prisoner, placing a sharp, short blade against his neck in an almost gentle way. He grinned down at him, watching the man gasp and squirm as the blade moved slowly and drew a bit of blood.

“Now, if you don’t want to bleed out like a pig, you should really consider telling me where your friends are. And don’t lie.” He leaned closer, an immaculate gloved hand patting the prisoner’s shaking shoulder. “I will know it if you do.”

“P-Please! I don’t know anything!”

“I doubt that. Allow me to _insist_.”

He channelled fire on the hand still resting on the man’s shoulder; the spell burned the dirty shirt he was wearing and his flesh, making him scream and shake on the chair he was tied to. He slightly cut his neck with the blade Hubert still held close to it and he started screaming louder when he felt and saw the blood run down his chest, thinking he was about to die.

“Enough!” Hubert said, annoyed by the loud sounds he was making. “Tell me where to find your companions and I won’t slit your throat open!”

“Do… Do you mean it? I will tell you all I know, just… please…!”

Hubert nodded with a small, cold smile.

“I always keep my promises.”

Half an hour later, he exited the dungeons, accompanied by the two guards who had waited for him outside the cell, ready to intervene in the improbable case something happened. They walked a few paces ahead of him – he didn’t want any soldiers walking behind him, since anyone could be an assassin. He had begged Byleth to start doing the same, but her kindness and trust still stopped her from doing so.

Before leaving, he approached the captain of the dungeons, the one in charge of the guards who took care of the prisoners there. He handed him a small bottle.

“Put this in the food of our new guest. I promised him I wouldn’t kill him.” He smiled, a creepy expression that made the captain gulp. “Not with a blade, anyway.”

He noticed the frightened look that the two guards accompanying him shared. He ignored it, just as he ignored the whispers of the court as he walked the halls and corridors of the Palace.

His reputation hadn’t changed one bit – people thought marriage hadn’t influenced him at all, that it had been just a political move like so many other unions. The servants of House Vestra would have snickered at that idea, the only ones who knew – apart from the Emperor and the couple’s close friends - how unbreakable and deep their bond actually was.

He found Byleth in the throne room, discussing some matters related to the army with Lady Edelgard. She was wearing her cravat and his cape – the first time she had seen it, Lady Edelgard had gasped and complimented him for his correct choice, pride in her eyes.

“Hubert!” Byleth exclaimed, her face lighting up. He smiled, too, and approached the two women. He bowed his head to Lady Edelgard, then moved to take Byleth’s hands in his, their usual gesture of love in front of the Emperor and other people.

But then he noticed the specks of blood on his otherwise clean gloves. There weren’t many, but he saw them all the same – in the past, he would have ignored them and kept them on until he was ready to rest a little, wanting everyone to see how serious he could be in completing his orders and tasks for the benefit of the Empire and Her Majesty.

_Now_, however… now he would never let Byleth touch or even see those sullied gloves, even though she knew perfectly what he did and why.

He cleared his throat, swiftly removed them, and hung them on his belt. He heard some of the soldiers stationed in the room gasp, for he had never done anything like that before. Even Edelgard was staring at him as though he had turned into a dragon.

Byleth kept smiling at him, her cheeks pink, and when he took and held her hands, she squeezed his.

“I have news about the group of Slitherers we found in the east.”

“That’s great! I was just telling Edelgard how much the army’s new battalions have improved.”

“With you training them, it is not surprising.” he said with a proud smile, making her laugh softly and blush.

Lady Edelgard politely cleared her throat, making him jump. He squeezed his wife’s hands one last time before letting her go, his ears turning red as they would always do whenever he was in public with her.

“Tell us what you discovered, Hubert.” the Emperor said, a knowing, amused smile on her face. He bowed, trying to hide his blush, but his heart sang with joy when he saw how happy and flustered Byleth was.

\- - -

All festivities and holidays related to the Church of Seiros had been somewhat eliminated from the Imperial calendar, but only their name and target of worship had changed. The harvest festivals now were held to celebrate the Emperor’s wisdom that helped the fields prosper; the coming of spring and summer was the perfect occasion to rejoice in their united Empire and the peace it had brought.

Lady Edelgard always celebrated those activities in the Palace. She didn’t fully take part in them, not used to and not liking too lavish parties, but she knew it was an important way for her subjects and friends to unwind and vent and she recommended everyone to participate. Once, she had even convinced Bernadetta to come, but that miraculous event hadn’t repeated itself.

It was during one of such holidays that people at court finally realized how real and vast the love the Count and the Countess Vestra for each other was. Nobody believed the rumours that insisted how united they were and Byleth was pitied and criticized, Hubert scorned and feared by nearly all the nobles, merchants, and servants who frequented the Palace.

“Mh.” Hubert stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed more elegantly than usual, but something in his appearance was amiss. He checked his chin, tilted it up and down and then sideways, until a sigh escaped his lips.

“What is it, honey?” Byleth asked from the comfort room of their quarters in the Palace, which had become almost a second house to them, considering how much time they spent there.

“I need to shave. I fear I’m growing a little bit of stubble and I detest it.”

“Oh, let me see!”

She rushed out of the comfort room, dressed in a long black, red, and white dress with two birds embroidered above her heart. She gasped and cooed at the minuscule hairs on his jaw, excited like a child, while he…

While he could only stare at her dazzling beauty, at her bare collarbone, at the joy radiating from her like a healing spell, one of those he had never managed to use well. The dress fitted her perfectly and he had never seen her hair styled like that, raised high, leaving her neck naked.

And was that… perfume?

That particular holiday was more important than the others, since it had been turned into a celebration of the Emperor’s strength and valour, so he understood why Ferdinand and Dorothea had asked everyone to put on only their best outfits. But _this_…

This would be his death. He would not be able to focus as it was expected from him with his wife looking so ethereal and gorgeous. The Goddess whom Fòdlan had worshipped until now was a ruse, a mere beast which hadn’t been able to properly govern the world, an inhuman creature whose perfection was debatable.

But Byleth… Byleth was _his_ goddess and there were no words apt enough to describe her.

Despite his several successful attempts at complimenting her and displaying his love for her, he now turned back into his old babbling self, that Hubert who could barely hold a normal, non-work-related conversation with her, that Hubert who didn’t even dare touch her hand.

“Oh, I wonder how you would look with a full beard! Mh, maybe not too long, but well-kept, you know?” She blinked, noticing his red cheeks and intense stare. She smiled coyly.

“What is it?”

“You…” He took a deep breath. “You…”

The words he wanted to say didn’t come out, so he used his body instead. He pressed his mouth on hers, a deep kiss that made her moan. His hands went to her hips and pulled her closer and she wrapped her arms around his neck, biting his lips to tell him to let her tongue in.

“Beautiful.” he finally managed to say – to _croak out _– after they broke the kiss and her bright smile reassured him that she knew how much more he wanted to tell her.

“Would you…” He looked at the razor he had kept from his Academy days. “Would you help me?”

It felt only natural to ask her. He had never let anyone do such a thing for him, well aware of how dangerous it would be for him. Someone with an incredibly sharp blade so close to his neck, the perfect chance to eliminate him? He had never trusted anyone with such a task.

He didn’t even think about those things as he asked Byleth. And he was filled only with joy, his blush spreading everywhere on his body, when she giggled and motioned him to sit down.

“I remember when I found this at the Academy.” she said fondly, handling the razor with great expertise. She had told him while they prepared the water and soap that she had used to shave her father’s beard when she was a child.

“I swear it wasn’t used for anything but this.”

“I know, I didn’t doubt it!” She laughed again, making his smile grow, as she started shaving his chin. “I was just surprised by how sharp it was. I was worried you would cut yourself.”

“I did – the first time I shaved myself.” He grimaced at the memory. “It wasn’t pleasant, but I soon became better at it.”

“You don’t like having a beard at all?”

He hummed, then he gave her an amused, playful smile from the mirror. She blushed and huffed, already knowing she had played herself.

“I’m not sure. Would _you _like me more if I had a beard, sparrow?”

“I will always love you, no matter what. Even if you became bald!”

“I believe I would look even uglier without hair, but I thank you for your moral support.”

“Hubert Von Vestra-Eisner!” Her last name added to his always did special things to his heart and the look in his eyes turned soft, his smile almost puppy-like, even though he would have never admitted it.

“Stop calling yourself ugly!” she said, glaring at him and waving a warning finger in front of his face. He pretended to bite it, eliciting a yelp from her. “Hubert, I’m serious!”

“As am I.”

“I’m going to cut a shape in your hair, if you keep being so silly.” she said, huffing again. He merely smiled at her, mischievous and imp-like. “I swear it! You will go around the palace with a smiling face on the back of your head!”

“People always say I must have eyes on my back, since I always notice everything. This would help confirm their suspicions.”

She groaned, looking at him with a flat, almost disappointed look, but he knew she was playing along. They would often banter in such ways, cute games of wit shared back and forth.

“That was a terrible joke.”

He gave her his most innocent smile.

“I had a good teacher.”

“I won’t shave the other half of your face if you keep doing this.”

“And I won’t tell you where I hid your stack of cookies.”

She gasped, outraged, and his smile turned confident and satisfied like that of a mischievous kitten.

She furrowed her brow, then her blank expression – which didn’t appear on her face often these days – replaced her frown.

“Alright. Then I won’t tell you where I hid your supply of coffee.”

His face fell and he stared at her in shock, before sulking and harrumphing.

“Fine! No more silly jokes from your husband!”

A moment of silence, then they started laughing. She hugged him from behind, careful not to hurt him with the razor, and he kissed her hand, mindful of the soap still on his face.

The door opened in that moment and a flustered soldier stumbled in.

“My lord, my lady, I’m sorry, but…”

He stopped at the sight before him. He stood there, mouth hanging open, and stared at the Count Vestra with his face half-shaved, still wet with water and soap, and at the Countess bent down with her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed on his hair. They had been laughing, the soldier’s dumbfounded brain realized.

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock?” Hubert said with less bite than usual. The ghost of his large smile still curled his lips. “What do you want?”

“I… I apologise, I…”

“Apologies accepted. Now don’t let me repeat myself.”

“The… The celebration is about to start and I was sent to inform you of that.”

“Thank you, soldier.” Byleth said with a kind smile. She hadn’t moved one bit, while her hairstyle had fallen down. “We will join the party in a moment. You may go.”

“Y-Yes, my lady.”

The man closed the door with the largest eyes they had ever seen. After reassuring the Emperor that the Count and Countess Vestra would be there soon, he hurried to tell all his friends and colleagues of what he had just seen.

“No way.”

“Impossible.”

“Maybe they heard you approach and pretended to be all dovey-lovey?”

But the soldier swore and swore again that wasn’t the case and rumours soon started to spread. It seemed Count Vestra and his wife were truly in love with each other and that they were the most adorable couple, like those described in romance novels or romantic fairytales.

When the Emperor sighed and asked a servant to go call them again, the brave maid accepted with immense joy and hurried to the Vestra quarters of the Palace, her friends waiting eagerly for her return.

The first thing she heard as she quietly approached the door was Byleth’s laugh.

“Yes, that’s perfect! Maybe… a little higher here?”

“Let me see if I can hide the pin well.”

“You are so good at this. Did you learn by styling Edelgard’s hair?”

“Yes, I used to help her with it when we were children.”

A whine followed, then the maid heard him laugh with tenderness and mirth – she had never heard such a sound come from him before.

“Stop fussing, my sparrow. I know it’s a bit tight, but it won’t fall on your eyes this way.”

“Make sure to let some locks cover this part of my neck, though. You know, that part on which you left that _dark_, _well-visible mark_ yesterday night.”

“Ah, my apologies. I will make sure to leave similar marks on a lower and better hidden place, next time.”

“Hubert!”

She giggled and his laughter followed again – the maid had to force herself to snap out of it before she could bring herself to knock on the door.

“Yes?”

The maid opened the door and the sight of Count Vestra standing behind a chair, styling his wife's hair, would be burned on her mind for the rest of her days.

“I apologise, my lord and my lady, but the Emperor is requesting your presence.”

“We are almost done. We will come in a few minutes, assure Her Majesty of this.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The maid almost ran back all the way to the main hall where the party was held. She delivered her message to the Emperor – “Really, what are they doing? Mh, perhaps I shouldn’t insist so much, they could be… busy.” -, then she hurried to her impatient friends.

“They have loving nicknames for each other!” she exclaimed softly while trying to catch her breath. “And Lord Vestra was styling her hair! And there was this _large _hickey on her neck!”

The maids and soldiers and servants who were all gathered in that corner of the vast room gasped; soon Hubert’s reputation would change in a small, but deep and essential way and fans of his and Byleth’s marriage would increase exponentially inside the Palace. They would soon become to be known as inseparable, one of those doting couples that were believed to exist only in books.

“Who knew that creepy young man had it in him.” an old maid said as she and her young assistants watched them mingle with the guests. They walked arm in arm, their love a subtle, candid, pure aura that reached everyone near them, so striking in contrast with Hubert’s tall, dark, unsettling figure.

The maids groaned quietly when Byleth stepped on his feet during the customary dance. He chuckled and kissed her, both redder than the curtains and the carpet, and he whispered something in her ear that made her blush more and swat his chest.

“Well…” the old maid mumbled. “She’ll learn. These things take time.”

\- - -

A year and a half after their union, she surprised him again.

She took him to the kitchens of their manor and he was puzzled to find them empty. He was about to ask where the cook and his helpers were, but Byleth interrupted his thoughts with a kiss before leading him to a large oven.

There was a single, round bun inside, still uncooked.

“Did you… Did you make it?” he tried, not really understanding what she wanted to show him.

“Not really.” Her grin was funny and endearing, so enthusiastic it was. He hummed and smiled, rubbing his chin with a pensive expression.

“Very well, I shall play. Is this related to food at all?”

“No, but it serves its purpose pretty well.”

He hummed again, frowning a little. He liked this kind of games, but he couldn’t find an acceptable answer to the test she was clearly offering him.

“It’s a bun in the oven.” he thought out loud, even tilting his head a bit. “A bun in the oven… A surprise in the making? Something that is growing and…”

It hit him like a punch from a Grappler.

“Byleth.” he gasped, fire and ice mixing inside him. “Byleth, are you…?”

“Yes.” she laughed, tears in her eyes, and she put his hand on her belly. It was still flat, but he drew a sharp breath all the same. His sight was blurred – he was crying, too.

“Oh.” He smiled at her and if words had failed him before, they didn’t now. “Oh, my sparrow. I’m so, _so happy_. Thank you, thank you so much.”

They hugged in the sunlit kitchens, such an unexpected place to learn they were going to be parents. He kissed her face, her neck, her shoulder, then whispered, shaking with joy and excitement, with dread and anxiety:

“I will be a good father, I swear.”

“I know.” she reassured him, believing in him, trusting him, loving him, one of her biggest gifts to him. “I know you will.”

And he knew it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Hubert being a kind papa and cry with me, everyone knows he would be #1 Dad of Fòdlan ; v ;


	8. Chapter 8

Lady Edelgard and their friends reacted to the news with tears and cheers.

After the initial moment of excitement and joy, however, worry began to seep through the walls of House Vestra and the Palace. The Slitherers hadn’t been stopped yet and the location of their main base was still a mystery. They considered Byleth one of their greatest enemies and if news of her pregnancy reached them, she would be in even greater danger.

She refused to stop working until the first four months or so. Manuela and the other healers said her health was good and that life at court shouldn’t be too much for her; they advised against too much stress, though, and told Hubert to keep an eye on her in case she started exaggerating.

As if they needed to tell him. He had already sworn he would do anything – _anything _– to keep her safe and make sure nothing would happen to her and their child.

If they were inseparable before, now they were basically joined at the hip. He followed her everywhere, dragged her back to their quarters in the Palace when she overexerted herself, tasted her meals before giving them to her. When they were at House Vestra, he personally prepared her food, something he would often do even before her pregnancy.

“Hubert.” she once said with a sigh. “Manuela said I can still ride. We don’t need a carriage to go back to the Palace.”

“Yes, _we do_.” He glared at her, his protectiveness knowing no bounds. “Riding a horse in your condition is too dangerous. I cannot believe Professor Manuela didn’t think about it. A carriage is way safer and I will be able to protect you better, should someone ambush us.”

“What, you think I would put our child in danger?” She returned his glare and he almost shrank back, not used to it. “Also, I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself! I’m not bedridden yet!”

He didn’t insist further, knowing it was useless, but his worry festered inside him for the whole day.

After the seventh month mark, she became quite snappy, irritable, impatient, and his main preoccupation were also her mood swings, so unpredictable and, truth to be told, scary. He wasn’t used to her anger, her tears, her whines – he felt guilty whenever she complained about her lower back pains; he felt wretched and disgusting whenever he saw her cry, sure he was the cause; he felt stupid and foolish whenever she glared at him for worrying too much and stressing her out.

And he felt even _worse _whenever she turned back to normal and apologised profusely, her arms wrapped tightly around him, his hands barely touching her back. He had said he would be a good father and he still believed he would – but to be a good husband to his pregnant wife seemed like an impossible task for someone like him, someone who had just learned how to take care of her in normal conditions, someone who still relapsed to his old clumsy self from time to time, someone who hadn’t had much experience with marital life yet.

He felt bad when he fretted over her too much, but also when he left her alone.

The boundaries had shifted, the domesticity and habits they had formed in that year and a half had changed, and he had to learn new ways of speaking, of behaving, of moving, of reacting.

But, despite all his worries and panic, he loved her even more than before and he loved that new challenge as well. If he had learned how to kiss her, make love to her, and talk to her of romantic things without being too much of a fool or embarrassing her, then he would learn how to please her during her pregnancy, too.

That was the least a good husband could do and he wanted to be _perfect _for her.

For that reason, he started reading books on the subject and asking people for advice. The first part was easy; he had always loved knowledge and the power that derived from it and books had been his companions for many years. He knew they wouldn’t fail him.

The second part was against his character. He despised showing weakness to anyone who wasn’t Byleth and his father’s teachings – clutching to him during moments of stress – reminded him that asking for advice _was _showing weakness and that he was supposed to find the right solutions on his own.

But Byleth had taught him that asking for help wasn’t always bad and he had found friends in the odd, but tight-knit company of the Black Eagles Strike Force. And who better than Bernadetta, he thought one day, to teach him how to take care of his stressed, definitely not-relaxed-enough wife?

“Y-You… You want _my _help?” Despite having become good friends, Bernadetta still seemed terrified around him. It also didn’t help that they were both at House Vestra, a place that didn’t make her feel at ease at all – but Hubert was grateful to her for always finding the strength of leaving her estate when called.

“Yes, that’s correct.” He had invited her for tea, hoping to help her calm down a bit, but his request had clearly shocked her. She looked like a frightened rabbit, her eyes constantly moving to the door as though she was ready to bolt out of the room in a second.

“I-I’m not killing anyone!” she suddenly shrieked, clutching her teacup. “Y-You can’t force me!”

“I don’t want you to help me with an assassination.” He gave her a surprised look. “Really, Bernadetta, do you think I would come to you for such a thing?”

“Well, no… Hey, that didn’t sound like a compliment!”

“I wasn’t trying to compliment you. I merely meant that your nerves have never been the best and you visibly worsened after the war.” He sipped a bit of his coffee. “I wouldn’t want to add more weight to your shoulders.”

“Aw, thank you.” She showed him one of her not-shaky smiles. “That is very cute of you! O-Oh, sorry.” She bowed her head when he glared at her. “I know you don’t like being called cute.”

He harrumphed, but then softened, thinking about Byleth and her smile. She was sleeping – she had started to do that a lot more now that her belly had grown – and she didn’t know Bernie was visiting.

They had received special permission from the Emperor to work at home for all the time they deemed necessary – Hubert was constantly at her side to take care of her and protect her, in case the Slitherers had the idiotic idea of hurting her in her vulnerable conditions.

He felt bad for not being at the Palace to help Her Majesty with all the work the Empire required, but not as bad as he would have believed before. His wife needed him now more than ever and he had devoted his second life – that one borne out of peace – to her. He would never abandon her.

“I will wait for you here. In our bed.” she had said before retiring to sleep, kissing him, her smile sleepy, a bit tired due to her aching back, but sweet and loving. She had caressed her now swollen stomach. “No, _we _will wait for you.”

He had swallowed a lump of tears, kissed her, and run away before he would burst crying in front of her. That simple gesture – that _we _– had ignited a flame in his heart and he could barely look at her belly without choking on air and unshed tears.

“Actually…” he admitted, still thinking of his wife and the child growing in her. “I enjoy it when Byleth calls me like that.”

Bernadetta beamed at him, but immediately squeaked when he narrowed his eyes at her.

“That _will_ remain between us, Bernie.”

“O-Of course! It will be our secret!”

“Thank you. I will send you those candies you like so much.”

“Hey, you don’t have to bribe me! We’re friends!”

“And that is why I need your help.” He set the cup down and sighed, lacing his gloved fingers together on the desk. “Sometimes, her pregnancy makes Byleth a bit… unstable. She gets upset easily and many things make her cry.”

“W-Well, that’s understandable. I heard pregnancy can have even worse effects on some people.” Bernie fidgeted with her hands, looking at a cookie crumb. “Also, the fact that she has a heartbeat for the first time in her life is probably making things more difficult.”

“Yes.” he agreed with another sigh. “She told me that she is not used to feeling _so much_ and her pregnancy does strengthen some of the emotions she feels, probably more than it would do to another woman.”

“B-But… um…” Bernie was clearly embarrassed, not understanding what this had to do with her. “I really don’t know how I could help. I-I mean… I don’t know much about these things, so...”

“Listen to me.” He leaned in, his gaze intense. “You and Linhardt are the most expert ones when it comes to relaxing. What do you usually do to calm down? I know you like sewing and drawing – would you recommend that to Byleth? She cannot train anymore and it’s driving her mad.”

Bernie blinked and opened and closed her mouth multiple times, vainly train to stop the stream of questions. But Hubert had only one objective in mind and that was making sure Byleth would feel good and at peace for the remaining of her pregnancy.

“You and Byleth also have similar tastes in food. You like sweets, too, don’t you? What are the best ones, in your opinion? Her food cravings have increased as well and I want to fill the kitchens with everything she may want.”

“I-I…”

“Loud noises. I believe they should be avoided as much as possible in her case; fortunately, House Vestra is always quiet, but…” He shook his head, rubbing his chin pensively. “How do you usually block sounds from the outside?”

“That’s…”

“I also saw you borrow some books from her once. I assume you have similar tastes in reading, too; could you please lend her any volumes in your possession which you know she will like?” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I… I tried looking for them myself, but I fear my choice wasn’t the best. They are mostly strategy books, very heavy, and I fear she will get even more restless.”

Bernadetta mumbled something under her breath and Hubert finally realized how quiet she had been. He leaned farther in, thinking she had just suggested a title to him, but he almost had a heartattack when she sprang up from her seat at the speed of light.

“_This is too much responsibility!_”

And then she ran out of the study, wailing on top of her lungs. He blinked, staring at the open door and the poor traumatized servants in the corridor. Then he sighed, looking at his empty cup of coffee with a worried and disappointed look on his face.

“I didn’t get any useful answer…”

\- - -

Linhardt could at least be talked to, but his patience for Hubert’s questions was obviously thin, just like Hubert’s for his sleepy, sluggish antics was.

“Why are you asking _me_ what’s the best position to sleep in? I’m not a pregnant woman.” A huge yawn followed. “Also, I can sleep pretty much anywhere, no matter the position or the weather.”

“You must have some advice for me.” Hubert said, giving him his best stern look. Linhardt simply looked back at him with a blank face, lazier than a cat lying in the sun. 

“Well, you said the Professor suffers from back pains, didn’t you? Not surprising, considering how _huge _her belly is getting. When I saw her today, I thought the child was about to burst out of her.”

Hubert flinched at the gruesome description – how did Linhardt even had pleasant dreams when his mind was filled with such ideas?

Not that he was one to talk.

“I read somewhere that the mother’s body gets deformed during the pregnancy. I wonder whether the Professor’s Crest would have helped with that or not… Maybe the deformations would have activated it and…”

“_Stop that_. Yes, she suffers from back pains and the remedies Manuela gave her don’t always work. What do you suggest?”

“More pillows. Put one under her back and one under her legs. That’s what I do when my limbs are stiff and aching.” A second yawn and Linhardt leaned back on his chair, his eyes already closed. “Oh, and some Angelica tea, if Manuela already didn’t give it to you. It relaxes the muscles.”

“Pillows… under back and legs. Angelica tea for muscles…” Hubert repeated under his breath, writing everything down on a small blank journal. Linhardt opened one eye and stayed silent while he wrote before asking:

“Are you… _taking notes_?”

Hubert glared at him, his cheeks glowing red.

“I do not wish to forget even the smallest detail.”

“I didn’t know you could _forget _things. I thought your mind was a perfect mechanism working relentlessly twenty-four hours a day.”

“It is, but…”

“And you are not even humble about it!”

“_But_,” he glared at Linhardt again before softening his voice, “I want to be completely sure. It’s about Byleth and her wellbeing, after all. I want things to be perfect.”

“I would call that adorable, but I would also like to live some more.” Linhardt yawned a third time and finally managed to fall asleep, clearly considering his conversation with Hubert over.

Satisfied, the Minister finished writing his list, then he went to ask for a trustworthy and reliable servant who could buy in Enbarr everything his wife might need and want. This time, he would choose better books and risk a little. Perhaps a book of fairytales? It would also be useful for the future, for when the child would be born…

\- - -

The sun was setting when the servant returned to House Vestra heavy with bags. Hubert thanked him and took everything out of his hands, checking every packet to make sure nothing had been pampered with or forgotten.

Since she couldn’t train and move around much anymore – not with her seven-months belly – Byleth had started spending more time in the garden. He would sit there with her every day, both engaging in their playful banters, deep conversations, and ideas about the future. He would help her stand up and cover her shoulders with a shawl when the cold wind settled in.

She was there that day, too, reading some paperwork on the soft grass. She smiled at him when he approached and sat at her side and curiosity filled her eyes when she spotted the brown paper bags.

“What is that?”

“I… I sent a servant to buy some things you may like.” He cleared his throat, not remembering his speech anymore. Words fled from him when he was around her again, now that she was so delicate, so sensitive, so much softer. He felt like a poisonous plant next to her, while she was a precious, all-healing flower that had somehow decided to grow at his side.

“Linhardt told me Angelica Tea is good for muscle pain. It may help you with your back.”

He massaged her shoulders and back every night before bed, but it didn’t help much. Another thing that made him feel guilty and powerless, but she had reassured him time and time again that he didn’t need to worry.

“Oh, thank you! I remember drinking it with him, it’s quite good.” She looked at the manor. “Where is he, anyway? Still sleeping in our study?”

“No, I sent him back home.” He smirked. “Heh. He has probably fallen asleep in some field.”

“Hubert!”

She laughed, glowing under the orange light of the setting sun. She was beautiful, more than ever, and he trembled every time they kissed, every time his hand touched hers or she hugged him.

“These are… books.” He inwardly groaned. She had eyes – gorgeous eyes at that – and she could see what he was handing her without difficulties. “I actually bought other titles the other day, but… I soon realized they were boring. They would have just tired you.”

“Oh, Hubert, you don’t know that.” She kissed his cheek. “What were they about?”

“Strategy. But…”

“You know I love it.” she laughed again, leaning against him and resting her head on his arm. “Will you give me those, too, later?”

“I… Yes, of course.”

“These look interesting, too!” She read the titles out loud and her smile widened as she spotted a volume about fairytales for children. “Oh, my love. This is wonderful.”

He blushed, flustered and happy, and looked down to hide his smile, which he knew looked goofy and silly. But she was clever and she was his wife and soon saw it. She laughed again. He was so relieved to hear her laugh like that, after days spent groaning in pain and discomfort.

“No hiding!” she playfully chided him, tapping his cheek. “Now, what else do you have for your very swollen wife and our child?”

_Our child_. Those two simple words made his heart do things it had never done before in his life. He had often seen her touch her belly and speak to the baby inside in soft tones, a joyous smile on her face. The most he had been able to do had been resting a hand on the round mound and stay perfectly still, waiting for he didn’t know what.

He had read, in all the parenthood books he had found, that speaking to the baby was important, for many scholars considered them to be able to hear sounds even from inside the mother’s body. But his _damnable _self, so easily embarrassed by such simple, yet wondrous gestures, had prevented him from doing so. He could only listen as Byleth talked to their child, her hand placed on top of his.

“I…” He looked into the third bag. “I listed all kinds of sweets I could think of. The servant was able to find them all at the market in Enbarr.”

Byleth perked up at that, a funny smile on her rounder face.

“Sweets?”

“Yes, sweets, you glutton.”

She giggled and peeked into the bag, gasping and letting out exclamations of joy. But then her face fell and Hubert feared the inevitable.

“I… I will become even rounder, if I eat all these.” Tears filled her eyes and he felt every muscle in his body shout at him; he needed to hold her and comfort her, even though he was a disaster at that. The last time he had tried to, she had cried even harder, upset by what he had said.

He had avoided her like a guilty, ashamed dog for the whole day, always keeping an eye on her from afar, but scared of upsetting her delicate balance with his tactless words and awkward manners.

“You must think I’m despicable.” she continued, her lips quivering. “I’m always complaining and it sounds like I don’t want this child, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth!”

“Byleth.” He wrapped his arms around her, growing worried. She had never said those things before.

“I love the fact that we will soon be parents. I want this child so, so much and I already love them. I love them_ immensely_ and I couldn’t be happier. I’m sorry it sounds like I’m ungrateful or angry, I’m just not used to all this and…”

“Byleth, listen to me…”

“I never had a maternal figure in my life.” Her eyes were staring at the grass, fear and anxiety in them. Hubert rubbed her back, wanting to reassure her and say “Me neither”, but he doubted that would have actually helped her. Also, this was about _her_ – he didn’t want to make it about him, too, to push aside her worries to talk about his as well.

“My father was an amazing father, but it isn’t the same, I believe. And I was a peculiar child.”

“I’m fairly sure our child will be peculiar, too, considering who their parents are.” he replied, hoping his lame attempt at a joke would make her laugh again. His heart soared to new unknown heights when it worked and she actually giggled again.

“You’re right, that’s pretty much confirmed. But…” Her smile slowly disappeared and Hubert felt scared and nervous, as though he was standing on a very high place from where he could see too well the distant ground below.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “Now that we are getting closer and closer to the date, all kinds of fears are coming to haunt me. I… I think I’m good with kids, I always enjoyed being around them at the Monastery, but this will be _our _child. I need to be more than good.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her ear on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. It was something they often did with each other; it calmed them, it gave them relief and respite, for it was proof that they were alive and together.

“Also, we haven’t defeated the Slitherers yet. Have we been selfish, in bringing our child to life in such a dangerous moment of history? The war is over, but the war of House Vestra – of our family – has just begun.”

_Our family_. Every time she acknowledged she belonged to House Vestra, his cynical soul started singing. He kept that feeling of joy and satisfaction and pride in a corner of his heart, ready to be brought back later, and focused on her words for the moment.

“I want them to be happy, to be safe. I want them to enjoy peace and love without constantly fearing for their life, for a Slitherer to hurt them or…”

“Byleth.”

He raised her head, his bare hands cradling her face as though she was the most delicate of creatures. She was and at the same time she was strong, so incredibly strong. He felt his love for her replace the blood in his veins – he needed nothing else to go on, he thought in that moment, like he had thought many times before.

He had become a _sap_, but he would gladly turn into an even softer man for her. Of course, he would never be soft with anyone else, especially those who sought to hurt her and their child. He would _destroy _those people, quarter them, spread their blood all over Fòdlan, burn their hidden cities like the nests of parasites they were.

He told her this in a heated, quiet, slow voice, his hold on her strong and protective, full of devotion and all that adoration and love he couldn’t always express well, but that would burn in his heart until the end of time.

“My love.” he whispered, red and pale at the same time, his tall frame shaking. “I won’t let anything happen to you and our child. I will always protect you.”

He swallowed, blushing more as she smiled at him, and pressed his forehead on hers, continuing: “I know I have many faults, I know I’m not… a perfect husband yet, but…”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Hubert, you-”

“But I will _always _be at your side. We may have to step into the darkness to fight those monsters in the future, but I swear to you, my sparrow: that darkness will never touch our child. I will consume it and pour it into myself before even a speck of it can land on them.”

He was breathing hard, his chest heaving – Byleth stared up at him with wide eyes which soon filled with tears again. He panicked, recognizing some kind of sadness in them, but she laughed softly, cupping his cheek.

“Oh, my darling love.” He smiled at her words. “Thank you. Thank you, Hubert. I promise you the same thing.”

She kissed him, a sweet peck on his lips that left him excited and flustered. Maybe he had seen it wrong. She looked happy again.

She shook her head and let out a fond sigh: “My poor husband. I really gave you a rough time these days, didn’t I?”

“No, I just felt powerless. I had no idea how to help you.” He kissed her mouth again, then her forehead. “I was never good with healing magic and it seems my massages don’t do much to your lower pains. That is why I asked for Linhardt’s and Bernadetta’s help.”

“Is that why Linhardt was here?!” Byleth babbled something unintelligible. “And Bernie! How… When was she here? How did you convince her to leave her house?”

“Why are you so surprised?” he chuckled, slipping his long fingers through her blue hair. “I needed advice on how to make you comfortable and they were the only ones I could think of, apart from Manuela and other healers.”

“Hubert.” Byleth’s expression was serious, solemn even. “You are the most adorable husband in the world.”

He snorted, his face beet red, and looked away. She seized the chance to kiss his neck, eliciting a gurgling sound from him that made her laugh out loud. She knew he was ticklish there.

“Stop it.” he said, smiling, when she tried to kiss him there again. “Why don’t you eat your sweets?”

“You can’t distract me from kissing you with the lure of baked goods.” She managed to press another peck on his neck and he snorted louder.

“There are those round chocolates cakes you enjoy so much, I believe.” He raised an eyebrow, giving her an amused, impish smile. “And you wouldn’t want to get too tired before we go to bed. I remember you saying something yesterday, something about… oh, what it was?”

He moved closer to whisper in her ear: “Ah, yes. About _me eating you out_. It seems we both have much eating to do tonight, mh?”

She had become insatiable in bed in the last months and the hungry, playful, and shy look she sent him made his heart beat like a hammer in his chest and his smile broaden.

“This is not fair.” she huffed, frowning at him, her cheeks on fire. “You know I adore your voice!”

His smile grew even further and he whispered sultrily:

“Oh, yes, I _am_ aware.”

“Fine. I will stop tickling you, I will eat one or two sweets, and _then_…” She took a deep breath, unable to hold her smile back. “And then we will retire to bed.”

“Sounds like a perfect plan to me.”

“You know we will have to request dinner at a very late hour, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry.” He let his hands roam across her hips and back while his mouth kissed her face. “I will _eat _more than enough to satiate me while in bed.”

“Hubert!”

“But I will make sure to request all the food you want, my sparrow.”

She laughed, loud and joyful, and he took her in his arms, laughing with her. She kept the bags close to her chest as he carried her across the garden and into the house – two or three servants saw them and bowed at them with barely restrained smiles and giggles.

During that year and a half, he had learned to love that house, once so cold and unwelcoming and now so warm and comfortable. There were no shadows nor hidden whispers in it anymore.

“There.” he said as he gently placed Byleth onto their bed. “Let me bring you some more pillows. Linhardt said they should help you with your aches.”

He easily found them in their wardrobe and fluffed them before helping Byleth move onto them.

“Are you comfortable? Would you like some more? A quilt for your legs?”

“I’m fine, Hubert, thank you.” She beamed at him and flicked her wrist to motion him to come closer. His concerned eyes studied her position and adjusted a rebel pillow under her legs before being satisfied enough to accept to sit down.

“Would you like some Angelica Tea with your sweets?” He rested his hand on her ankle, massaging it, and she melted under his touch.

“Yes, please.”

“I will prepare it for you immediately.”

He rose to go take all the necessary stuff to prepare hot drinks they kept on a table near the fireplace. A comfortable silence fell between them and he returned at her side shortly after, handing her a warm cup. She had been staring out of the window for the whole time, he realized, and a thoughtful, sombre look was now on her face.

“Little sparrow?”

She took a sip of the tea, smiled at him, then placed the cup on the night-table next to her side of the bed.

“It’s delicious.” she murmured, taking his hand. Her smile was warm, sweet, but also sad and he squeezed her fingers, ready to comfort her again. Was she feeling scared again? Sick, perhaps?

“Hubert, thank you for everything you did and are doing.”

“You are my beloved sparrow. You deserve so much more and…”

“Love.” She kissed his hand before placing it against her cheek. “Listen to me.”

Her tone frightened him. Things had been going so well; they had spent a wonderful time in the garden – what had caused such a sudden change in her? It didn’t look like one of her intense, but brief mood swings. This was something else, something deeper, something that seemed to come from within her, as though she had thought about it for a long time.

He recognized the fear he had indeed seen before in her eyes while in the garden and his heart sank down, only to rise and get stuck in his throat when she confirmed his fears.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about this and I think it would be better not to wait any longer than necessary to talk about it, especially with the Slitherers still roaming about.”

A cold sweat started running down his neck and back. She looked resigned. Hopeful, but also sure that something would go wrong. Why? Where did this feeling come from?

“Did you notice something out of the ordinary?” he asked, tense, his mind working ten times faster. “Is one of the servants acting in a suspicious way? Tell me, Byleth!”

“Nothing like that. I just want you to promise me something, should things go wrong.”

“_Why _should they go wrong? I already told you, I won’t let anything happen to you!”

“Hubert.” Her smile was still there, enchanting and tender, but it looked _sad _and so it was wrong.

“What?” he croaked out, tears prickling his eyes despite himself.

“My mother died of childbirth. I know you will always protect me from everything, but nature can’t always be beaten.” She kissed his cold palm again. His hand was shaking, his mind was shaking, his very soul was shaking and screaming out in anguish.

“Manuela and the other healers said it is all proceeding smoothly.” he managed to say. The reality, the weight of what her body was going through finally hit him, right at the end of the journey.

_I read somewhere that the mother’s body gets deformed during the pregnancy._

He felt sick. Her lower pains, her mood swings, her food cravings, her headaches, her tight belly – all considered normal, just like war. Necessary to keep going, to bring new life and changes into the world, but dangerous, so dangerous. But in this case, only one person – the mother, _his wife _– was fighting. He wasn’t part of the battle; he could only watch and hope for the best.

“Have you suffered? _Are you suffering?_” He clutched her hand, panic rising within him like a miasma. “Byleth…!”

“I’m fine, Hubert.” She laced their fingers together. “But you must promise me something else.”

“Anything! What is it?”

“Should things go wrong during childbirth; should you have to decide between saving my life and that of our child…”

Hubert’s heart stopped and tears finally streamed down his gaunt face.

“… Promise me you will save theirs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 100% FLUFFY. But then... things happened ; - ;


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tags! ; v ;

“How can you ask me _that_?”

Hubert rose from the bed as if bitten, staring at her with eyes of fire and cold despair, of ice and burning outrage. Byleth kept smiling at him, knowing none of that was really aimed at her.

“How can you even expect me to… to…!” He dried his eyes with a furious swipe of his hand, then took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

“I won’t promise you that. I cannot.”

“Hubert.” She looked sad, now, and he _hated _it. He hated being the cause of her sorrow, but what other choice did he have? He had almost lost her once, after her fight against Rhea – he couldn’t lose her again, not _by his own hand_.

“It’s not like you to be this emotional.”

He had been nothing but emotional since their marriage. His distant heart had started beating back to life as much as hers had done since she had accepted his proposal and pressed her lips on his own.

“Where are the logic and reason you value so much?”

His glare intensified.

“You cannot expect me to be logical about such a thing! About your possible demise!”

“And yet that’s what we must be. Logical, because it could very well happen. I told you, we can’t always control and beat such things.” She sighed, reaching out for him with her small, kind hand.

He looked at it as though it was a cruel weapon and his salvation at the same time.

“Hubert, promise me. I want our child to live and be happy – that’s all a mother could ask for.”

“How could they be happy without you?” He felt like cracked glass, a cup filled with joy in which poison had been poured, damaging it. He felt ready to shatter.

Was this how Jeralt had felt when he had lost his wife? Had she asked him too to choose their child, Byleth, over her?

If that choice hadn’t been made, she wouldn’t have been there with him – he would have never met her.

“How could _I_ be happy without you?” he continued, stepping away from the bed, but without breaking eye contact. “You _will _live! You and the child both – I will make sure of it!”

“Hubert.” She kept calling him with her hand, with her voice, with her eyes, like a siren, like the vision of a goddess. “Hubert, please, you must promise me this.”

“_No_.” He refused to even think about such a possibility, because acknowledging it could actually make it come true, foolish as it sounded. She was right, this wasn’t like him – and yet it was, because he always panicked and stopped thinking whenever his loved ones were in danger.

Just like when Lady Edelgard – the younger sister he had never had - had been carried away to the Kingdom; he had fought his father’s men for three days, wild like a rabid dog.

But what could he do in this case? There was no carriage to follow, here, no Kingdom to reach. There was a chance that his beloved wife would risk her life in a couple of months and he would be powerless, despite all his knowledge, his magic, and his influence at court.

There was only one thing he could do: ask the healers to prioritize her safety above all else, even above the life of their child.

_Oh, my little one. _he wept in his mind, in his heart. _Forgive me. I already failed you._

“Hubert!” She was angry and desperate, now, sensing his resolve. “Hubert, I beg of you!”

She got up and tried to approach him, but he stepped back, tensing up like a cornered predator. If she touched him, if she reached him, then all would be lost; he would promise that horrible thing to her and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back on his word, if something really happened during childbirth.

He couldn’t lie to her, keep things from her like he did with Lady Edelgard. Byleth was his wife and he would respect her until his death and beyond. That promise would be her and his death sentence.

“We won’t talk of this again.” he said slowly, coldly, every fiber of his being crying in anguish when he saw how much pain he was giving her with his words. “Everything will go well. You and our child will be safe and this conversation will be only a memory.”

“But…”

“You should eat something. I shall prepare it for you – what would you like?”

She looked at him with the same blank face she had had for many years of her life and which only now had almost completely gone away, replaced by all her natural emotions. He couldn’t read it, he had never been able to, but he knew it was hiding sorrow and pain and perhaps disappointment.

“Soup, please.” she answered after a long moment of silence, her voice soft and calm, too calm.

He couldn’t even look at her, ashamed of himself.

“What kind?”

“Any kind.”

He left the room without looking back, like the coward he was. Yes, he was a rat, a rat crawling through narrow corridors, plotting and hiding, ferocious in battle, an inept when it came to the love of his life. Unworthy of being in her same room, of sharing her same air.

But he _couldn’t _promise her that horrible thing, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much she wanted him to.

She ate the rich chicken soup he had prepared for her, finished the Angelica Tea, then tucked herself under the covers without first changing into her nightgown, adjusting the pillows he had brought her. He sat at the round table in front of the fireplace, working on papers and documents that needed to be read and signed.

He usually worked in bed, so that they could hold hands and talk better – but this night, he kept away from her, not because he was angry at her, but because he felt disgusting, a failure, a selfish brute.

“Don’t go to sleep too late.” she said softly after a couple of hours, surprising him. He thought she had fallen asleep since long.

“Are the candles bothering you?”

“No, they never do. I’m just worried about you.” She was looking at him from the bed, looking so small and delicate among the pillows and large covers. “You will tire your eyes that way.”

He looked down at the papers scattered on the table, biting his lips. The hand holding the quill was shaking and the cup of coffee he had made just three minutes before was already empty.

That soft argument with no shouting had lasted only a few hours and he already missed her. They had never argued before and he wasn’t used to all this, to this tension, this sadness and awkwardness in the air.

He missed her, he loved her, and he wanted to beg forgiveness again, but then _she would ask him to promise and he…_

He couldn’t stay away from her.

He tidied up the table, sorted the documents, placed everything on a dresser, and then joined her in bed without changing his clothes. He only took off his shoes and socks, lined them neatly on the floor, then slipped under the warm blanket.

She immediately reached out for him and a part of him was scared – would she ask him to promise that again? But he couldn’t deny her nor himself, so he sought her hand, too.

Then he pulled her into his arms, breathing her scent, pressing his lips on her neck in a chaste kiss, her swollen belly protecting their child pressed against his body. The possibility of losing either of them was like a storm in the far horizon, unclear whether it would come closer or disappear on its own.

“Byleth.” he murmured, stroking her back, exploring it with the palms of his hands. He knew her body perfectly by now, just like she knew his.

“Hubert.” she called back, her voice kind and warm, with a smile in it. He released the breath he had been holding and pulled away to look at her. She _was _smiling and it was a gentle smile.

“Forgive me.”

Oh, it was so easy, so special, and so relieving to say it to her!

“No, I must apologize. I shouldn’t have asked you to promise me something like that out of the blue, without talking about it with you first.”

“Byleth, I want this child. I want it more than anything else in the world.” He placed his hand on her taut belly. It felt warm under her dress. “But I… I cannot lose you. The very thought of it drives me mad.”

He followed the gentle curve of the round bump. Almost two years had passed since their marriage and he had changed so much. It hadn’t felt like two years at all, but much less – however, time had flown like the eagle of the Empire, quick and relentless, and he feared it.

For the first time in his life, he was scared of the future, of the way it came so quick, turning into present and then past. He, who had always looked forward to it and the changes it would bring, dismissing the waves of nostalgia others felt. He felt like he and Byleth would turn into white-haired, wrinkled versions of themselves with just a blink of his eyes.

He wanted more time with her, devoid of external threats and the dangers of life – he believed he understood a little, now, those green-haired inhuman creatures with incredibly long lifespans. He envied them, even.

“I cannot be logical about this, my sparrow.” he said, looking at her with sad eyes. “Please, don’t… don’t ask me to choose. Please.”

“I won’t.” She rested her hand upon his, her cheeks and lips deliciously pink. “You’re right, it won’t be necessary. I just wanted to think about every possibility, I guess.”

“Yes. Yes.” He nodded to convince them both. “The pregnancy is proceeding smoothly, is it not? What happened to your mother doesn’t necessarily have to happen to you as well. All the healers said you are doing greatly.”

_That _was logical, _that _was sensible. Panicking before the actual troubles came didn’t make any sense, it was only a source of worry that wouldn’t do her and the child any good.

“My poor husband.” she cooed, caressing his face. “I gave you such a scare.”

Her voice was playful and sweet, but he could see the guilt in her eyes. He kissed it away and she hugged him, her face pressed in the crook of his neck.

Later that night, as she quietly slept in his arms, he opened his eyes, too restless to sleep as well.

He slowly and delicately untangled their limbs and moved lower, until he was face to face with her belly. He pressed only his fingertips on it, not wanting to awaken her or bother her. He wondered if they would feel the child kick before they would be born.

“Little one.” he whispered in the warm room whose darkness was reassuring and comforting. “I do not know if you can really hear me, but I shall try all the same.”

He swallowed, took a deep breath, then continued, his voice still a quiet murmur: “I am your father. I am not what many would consider a good man, but I love and adore your mother and I already love and adore you.”

He smiled and traced a random line on the belly, saying: “Isn’t that funny? We haven’t even met yet. But how could I not love you?”

_“You traitor.” he hissed to his father in the cell where he was chained waiting for his execution. “You never loved anyone. Not the Emperor, not the Empire, not…” He stopped, gritting his teeth. _

_The ragged man kneeling on the floor didn’t reply nor raised his head. _

_“This is what you deserve. At long last, your punishment has arrived.”_

“I must already ask you something, little one. Forgive me for having a request even before your first wail. You probably think I’m quite demanding.” He chuckled and pressed fully his palm on his wife’s belly, a feather-light touch. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask anything from you that you do not want. You shall follow your desires whenever and however you want.”

He took another deep breath, his heart beating fast, so much it felt like it bumped against his ribs with every single heartbeat.

“Your mother loves you, too. She is a brilliant, kind woman. I’m incredibly lucky to be at her side.” He kissed the belly. “She has big blue eyes and blue hair and the first time I saw her smile, it stole my heart, so much it made me angry and I didn’t even want to admit it.”

He groaned. “I know that doesn’t make sense. One day, I will explain it to you; I’m a very complicated man, I fear.”

He glanced up at Byleth. She was still sleeping soundly, her cheek squished against the pillow.

“That is why, little one,” he concluded, his heart moving to his throat where it became a lump of tears, “that is why I must ask you to treat her gently during her labour. Behave yourself a little; I promise you, you will be able to make all the ruckus you want once you are here with us.”

He kissed the belly, pushing back the tears and the anxiety building in him.

“I want to hold both you and your mother, safe and sound. I want her to gaze at you with her beautiful smile. I want to see you grow while at her side. I want you to come running at us to get a tight hug.”

_The only affectionate gesture his father had ever given him had been a pat on the back, back when he was a child no older than seven. He had received the compliments of the Emperor for having accompanied Lady Edelgard to the Opera and served her perfectly while there. _

_His father had bowed with him at the Emperor, then, once they had left the throne room, he had bumped his open palm against his back twice, not as a punishment for once._

_Hubert had smiled at him, naively hoping for a smile in return or a kind word, but his father had looked at him, blinked, then said slowly: “The Emperor and his family’s satisfaction is the only gratification you must seek.”_

He shut his eyes tight and exhaled. He tried of thinking of the probabilities, the odds, that everything would go well. He remembered Manuela, Hanneman, and the healers’ reassuring, happy words during Byleth’s last visit in the infirmary of the Palace.

“Little one.” he murmured. “I want to meet you soon.”

His eyes snapped open when a kind hand touched his hair.

He looked up and saw Byleth smiling at him. He blushed, embarrassed, but then he thought he had _no _reason to be. He was a father talking to his child. It was perfectly normal and peace was all about normalcy and rediscovering oneself.

He moved back up to be at her eye level and hold her in his arms like before.

“I…” He cleared his throat, looking at her neck, at her smiling lips, at the window behind her. “I haven’t felt them kick yet.”

“Don’t worry.” she laughed sweetly, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I’m sure you will.”

“… May I ask how much you heard?”

“I heard everything.”

He groaned, his neck and ears on fire.

“You were _pretending _to sleep? You mischievous sparrow!”

“I’m sorry. I woke up when you moved and then I couldn’t help but listen.”

He harrumphed and planted a kiss on her bare shoulder, while her hands gently brushed his hair and caressed his nape.

“Byleth.” He wanted to tell her, despite the disgusting way he had behaved. He hoped she wouldn’t get upset. He didn’t expect her to say it back, not after that night.

“Byleth, I love you.”

But she did say it back, looking into his eyes with her warm, life-giving smile.

“I love you, too, Hubert.”

_\- - -_

Maybe the child hadn’t heard him or maybe babies couldn’t hear their parents’ voices from inside the mother’s belly, after all. Hubert would never know, but two months after his one-sided conversation, it didn’t really matter anymore.

Byleth was beyond the closed doors of their bedroom, surrounded by Manuela, Hanneman, and the healers who had taken care of her during her pregnancy. He was waiting outside with Lady Edelgard and the rest of the Black Eagles ex-students.

“I should be there.” he said, staring at the doors as though they were an armoured enemy knight on the battlefield. “I should be there with her.”

She had started feeling the telltale cramps before lunch – he had immediately sent for the healers and everyone else, panic growing in him like a tide. But he had maintained his composure, carrying her to their bedroom while maids and servants ran everywhere in the house, fetching hot water, towels, and pillows.

“It will be alright.” he had told her, kissing her, carving the image of her face into his heart for the umpteenth time. “Everything will be alright, my sparrow.”

She had smiled at him and nodded.

Then, as soon as they had arrived, Manuela, Hanneman, and the others had pushed him out of the room.

“No! Let me help! Let me stay with her!”

“You would only be in the way.” Manuela had said before closing the doors on his face. He was still standing in front of them like a fool, burning with worry and despair. He felt like someone had ripped his heart out.

“They are right. There is little you could do there.” Lady Edelgard said, looking rather dishevelled, as though she had run out of the Palace without even checking herself in the mirror first. It was probably like that.

There was anxiety in her eyes, too, but she didn’t share his same worries, his same fears. Nobody in that corridor did.

“I have confidence that they will do a great job.” Petra - who had come from Brigid a few weeks ago just for that occasion - said cheerfully. “They are all great scholars with great healing magic in their hands.”

“Petra is right, Hubie.” Dorothea added from her chair, a basket full of presents for the child ready in her lap. “Also, the Professor is a sturdy woman! If she survived tough mercenary life for years, she can perfectly go through this without problems.”

“It is not the same thing.” he said, so quietly nobody heard him. Sounds of all kinds were coming from beyond the doors – moans of pain, gasps, words of encouragement, instructions, the typical noise a healing spell made when cast…

“Sit, Hubert.” Lady Edelgard sighed, nodding at a settee. “You will feel better if you do.”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“I thank you most sincerely, Lady Edelgard, but I’d prefer to stand.”

“Are you sure? We don’t even know how long it may take!” She turned to the others, looking slightly embarrassed. “Or at least, _I _don’t know. I fear I’m not an expert about such things.”

“It depends.” Linhardt slurred, half-asleep. His voice made Hubert tense up; he had not forgotten what he had told him about pregnancy a few months ago.

“It depends on the child’s position inside the mother’s belly; on how dilated her cervix is and-”

A chorus of groans filled the corridor and he looked at his blushing friends with confusion.

“What? It is a simple biological and medical term!”

“Indeed, but we would rather not imagine our _Professor_’s body that way.” Ferdinand groaned again and hid his face behind a hand. “Good grief, Linhardt!”

“Oh, come on, it’s perfectly natural!” Dorothea exclaimed, glaring at everyone, even Edelgard. “Seriously, you are all a bunch of children!”

“Her _husband _is right here! And she was our Professor!” Caspar said, pointing at Hubert, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to commit a massacre. “Oh, damn, I think Bernadetta fainted.”

“N-No… I’m just slowly dying inside…”

“Maybe we should change the topic.” Petra suggested, tapping her fingers against the wooden eagle doll she had carved for the baby. “For example… Hubert, did you and the Professor give thought to names?”

He nodded, his eyes still locked on the doors. The sounds inside the room hadn’t changed.

“Jeralt.” He missed the way everyone smiled and nodded. “Or Nadja.”

“They are wonderful.” Lady Edelgard said and the others agreed with her. He was about to add something, when a deafening shriek echoed from behind the doors. Shouts followed and air left Hubert’s lungs as he barged into the bedroom, followed by his friends.

There was blood on the bed, he realized, and blood on the professors and the healers’ hands. There was sweat on Byleth’s face and she looked _so tired_, in so much pain he couldn’t hold back the strangled noise that escaped his mouth.

He ran to her and took her hand; she grasped his tightly and smiled at him. She always smiled whenever he saw him, he realized in that moment. She always had a smile for him, no matter the situation.

“Byleth…!”

He distractedly heard Manuela and Hanneman say something in very heated and concise tones, as if explaining something complicated while having little time. Edelgard was the one listening to them, demanding answers with a broken voice; the others were watching their Professor with scared eyes or listening to what was being said with pale faces.

He had eyes and ears only for Byleth.

“Byleth.” he said, trying to smile back at her. “Byleth, my strong sparrow.”

“Hubert.” she gasped, her hair plastered to her face. He brushed it back for her, cursing his shaking hands and his shaky lips.

“Hubert, listen…”

“Hubert!”

A hand on his shoulder forced him to turn and he found himself face to face with a nervous Hanneman.

“Listen to me, Hubert.”

No, he had to listen to _Byleth_! _She_ was trying to speak to him!

“Things have gotten more difficult than we thought right at the end. I’m confident both Byleth and the child will overcome this without any harm, but I need to ask you as well…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I _refuse _to.”

“I know it is difficult to even think about it, but it is necessary! I already asked the Professor and…”

“_Enough!_” he roared, making everyone jump. “Cease speaking at once and take care of my wife and our child!”

“There is a chance we might not help both.” Hanneman continued, ruthless and methodical. “Control yourself, young man, and listen to me! You and the Professor must tell us what to do – you are the parents, you are husband and wife, you two must decide.”

“Hubert.” Byleth was still smiling at him, her hand still in his. “Hubert, please.”

“There is only a… a medium chance.” Hanneman continued, his hesitation shooting an arrow of dread right into Hubert’s heart. “But we need to know and act accordingly, should… should the worst happen.”

“You cannot ask this of me.” he told Byleth, desperate and pale, haggard and half-mad. “You cannot, Byleth.”

He felt everyone’s eyes on his back as he leaned down and pressed his forehead on hers. He was crying, the first time he had cried in front of Lady Edelgard and the others.

“I gave you my second life.” he said, a sob dying in his throat. “You cannot give it back to me. I won’t accept it, it was a _gift_.”

“I know and I thank you for it.” Her smile was blindingly beautiful, now more than ever. “I will give it to our child, then. The second life you devoted to me will go to them.”

“No.” He frantically shook his head. “_No_.”

A spasm ran through her and she gasped out in pain. Manuela and the healers cast other spells while her legs quivered and Edelgard demanded more answers with a shrilly, tear-filled voice.

He thought of Jeralt; of Byleth’s tears when she had lost him; of her smile when she had entered the room in Garreg Mach after a five-years slumber.

He remembered her joyful expression and the nod of her head when she had accepted his proposal in the Goddess Tower. He thought of their two years of marital bliss, of how much he had improved, of how much he still needed to improve and learn.

He bit his lips until they bled; he wished to replace the blood that stained the sheets with his own.

He wanted to bleed and suffer in her place – he had devoted himself to her, that was the least he could do.

_Let me die for you_, he thought, but when she smiled at him again and squeezed his hand, he knew he couldn’t do such a terrible thing to her. He understood her mother’s reasons and he thanked her for having brought Byleth into the world; he thanked Jeralt for having saved her from Rhea and raised her with such care and love.

“If necessary, save…” One more death added to his endless list, the worst of them all, the one he had threatened so often when he was an immature fool and which now risked to become true.

He forced his mouth to open, his tongue to move, his heart not to break.

“Save the child.”

Byleth sighed relieved and thanked him with an even larger smile, while everything around him and within him lost all sense.

\- - -

An hour later, the doors opened.

Hubert was sitting on the settee in the corridor, spent and drained. Every two or three minutes, a shiver would run through his body while his eyes looked at the floor, at nothing.

The others were silent or quietly crying. Lady Edelgard was among the latter, a fist pressed on her mouth to stifle the sounds.

But then they heard a baby’s cry, a chorus of cheers – and the doors opened.

“Come!” Manuela said with a huge smile, her hair a mess, her dress soiled with blood and other fluids. “Come see him!”

_A boy_, he thought through the haze in his mind. He rose, hating that treacherous hope in his heart.

And yet, Hanneman had said it was only a medium chance… and they wouldn’t be so happy and relieved, if Byleth had died, would they?

“Is she…?” he found the courage to ask and Manuela nodded, her smile bigger, tears in her eyes.

“She is weak, but she will recover. They are both well.”

While his friends burst into tears and joyous cheer, he ran into the room, his heart ready to explode.

Byleth was resting on clean sheets – she was visibly spent, paler than him with dark rings under her eyes, but she looked magnificent to him. She was lulling a cooing bundle in her arms.

“Hubert!” She beamed at him when she saw him. “Look!”

He approached slowly, as though she was a dream that would disappear in a moment if he moved too quickly. He put an arm around her shoulders, grounding them both in the present, in reality.

“You are…” he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t kill you?”

“No, you silly man.” She pressed her cheek on his arm before nodding at the bundle. “Look at our son, honey.”

His eyes moved down and he saw a small, cooing babe, his eyes shut, his skin pink and slightly wrinkled. His fists were minuscule and the tuft of hair on his head was dark, probably black.

He had loved him since the moment he had learned of his existence, but now that love grew immensely as he saw him, alive and well, in Byleth’s arms.

He gingerly reached out with a finger and touched one of his small fists. He was warm and soft like the feather of a bird.

“Thank you for what you did.” Byleth said and he turned to her with a look of shock on his face.

“For what _I _did? Byleth, _you _did everything, you-!”

“You know what I mean.” Her smile was proud and grateful, so much he had to look away, so overwhelmingly beautiful it was. “Thank you, Hubert.”

He hummed a sound, his face flushed red, and she giggled, making his face turn redder.

“I must thank you for this.” He touched their son’s hand again. “For him.”

“Is Jeralt still a good name?” she asked shyly and he looked at her with a joyous smile.

“Oh, my sparrow, of course. It’s perfect.”

And then he kissed her, while little Jeralt gurgled happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A WILD RIDE, POOR HUBERT
> 
> Also, "Nadja" means "hope" - I thought it would be a fitting name for a Huleth girl - but then little Jeralt was born ; v ;


	10. Chapter 10

Now that she had lost the Goddess’ power, Byleth was an ordinary woman with an ordinary body.

Manuela, Hanneman, and the other healers told her she would need to rest and stay in bed for several weeks – she needed to recover her energies and let her heart regain its strength after such a long and complicated labour.

She huffed and fussed a bit, but Hubert’s intense and pleading stare convinced her to do as they said. Jeralt was just a newborn, after all, and she could spend all the time she wanted with him while in bed.

Hubert prepared all her meals, remembering the recipes he had read in the useful books about pregnancy he had read during those months. He also listened intently to the advice and wisdom of the elderly maids, who were mothers and grandmothers and knew everything about such things, more than a bunch of crusty old healers and two childless professors could.

“These herbs will help her a lot.” the oldest maid of the house told him, handing him a soft bag filled to the brim with spinach-like plants. He didn’t recognize them and he was a bit suspicious, but he had known that old woman since his early childhood and she looked and sounded genuinely caring and kind, especially to Byleth and little Jeralt.

She sensed his discomfort, though, and brought him to a messy part of the garden that only the servants used for their meals.

“They’re from Morfis, from where I’m from, sir.” she explained, pointing at the herbs growing without order on a dark patch of soil. “Good for the heart and the bones. Why do you think I’m still alive and strong at this age, mh?”

He smiled at her, a warm, gentle smile that made the old maid blink in surprise. When he bowed to her and thanked her, she laughed with her hands on her hips.

“I knew that sweet woman would help you get back your old warmth, sir!”

He blushed and excused himself with another bow, then hurried back to the kitchens to prepare Byleth’s lunch.

He spent the majority of his time with her and little Jeralt in their beloved bedroom.

The first time they tried to hold him, both not used to having a small babe in their arms, they panicked. They had no parents or relatives to ask for help and their friends were as ignorant about this as they were.

The servants intervened again – the loyal messenger of the house, a thirteen years old boy who brought all the letters and missives to the Palace, had four younger brothers and sisters and knew how to hold a baby.

He showed the new parents how to do it, how to support his neck, how not to hold him too tightly, but securely enough. Hubert humbly listened to him and followed his instructions; Byleth smiled all the time and thanked him with a kiss on top of his ruffled head, earning herself one more friend inside the manor.

Jeralt was a surprisingly cheerful baby. He often smiled and gurgled happily, flailing his small fists whenever his mother or his father held him; Hubert couldn’t stop looking at him and poking his chubby cheeks, a bright smile on his gaunt face.

“He has your eyes.” Byleth told him one morning while feeding the child. He looked up from the clothes he was folding, his cheeks red. His heart thumped quickly against his chest.

“They are big and round, like yours.” he said, shaking his head. He was glad for that – the last thing his son needed were his looks. He wanted him to be as beautiful as his mother.

“Not the shape.” She smiled at him, wisdom and kindness on her face. It reminded him of the Academy days, of when she was a teacher. “The colour. Come see, they are clearer now.”

He timidly approached the bed, fidgeting with one of her undershirts. Little Jeralt had finished drinking his milk and was placidly looking at his mother, sated and satisfied like a drowsy puppy.

She was right – under the sunlight, he could see how similar the colour of his son’s eyes was to his own. The same shade of yellow and green mixed together, the same shade his father had had, too.

But now he didn’t find it ugly anymore. He and his son shared it – it was their precious, personal bond, eyes of citrine and emerald, his gift to him, and his father had no part in it.

“He has your nose, too.” Byleth added, laughing and tapping it. Jeralt gurgled, smiling at her.

Hubert sniffled and turned abruptly, folding the undershirt with his back turned to his giggling wife and their cheerful son. He knew she could see his red ears.

“He is going to be very handsome.” she continued, her voice happy and amused. Her mischievous little sparrow. He sniffled again, his only sound of agreement.

“I’m sure he will be kind, too.” Her voice was softer, now. “Brilliant and clever, with a warm heart.”

“He will get that from you.” he said, his voice slightly hoarse, his throat tight. He could still hardly see anything warm, let alone kind, in himself. But Byleth corrected him, as wise as ever, his beloved sparrow who could see through people and perhaps even look into the future.

“He will get it from _both of us_.”

He turned to her again and a sheepish, shy smile curled his lips. His eyes moved to Jeralt and his hands itched with the need to hold him and touch his squishy cheeks and soft, petal-like fingers.

Observant as ever, his Byleth smiled and held him out a little bit, offering the child to him.

“Would you rock him? He’s just drunk his milk and needs to digest it.”

“Of course.”

He had been doing it for days, after all, since she couldn’t get up from their bed yet. He liked to think he had gotten better at it – Jeralt would always burp after the first few minutes and would never fuss or cry after moving from his mother’s arms to his father’s. In fact, he would often fall asleep, quiet and placid.

“Hello.” Hubert smiled at him before he held him against his shoulder, patting his back. “One thing is for sure; you are an insatiable glutton like your mother.”

“Just you wait - I’m sure he got your addiction to coffee.” She lightly prodded his leg with her foot. “If he starts asking for rare, bloody meat, then we will be sure he inherited almost everything from you.”

“You mean he may have inherited my _excellent_ culinary tastes?”

“You call bloody meat excellent?” She made a funny face and a funny gagging noise, making him laugh. Jeralt jumped, surprised, when his father’s shoulders shook and Hubert hurried to soothe him with rubs on his back and a kiss on his soft, dark hair.

“Little one! Did I scare you?” The thought of it made his heart clench painfully. “Forgive me. There, it’s all good, now.”

“You just surprised him.” Byleth reassured him, her smile helping him to calm down. “He isn’t crying.”

“I know, but…” He looked at the baby, whose calm expression reminded him so much of his wife.

He looked like the most comfortable child in the world and the warm sunlight was clearly making him sleepy – he gurgled and closed his eyes, cuddling closer against his father’s chest.

Moved, Hubert gently touched one of his closed fists, which opened to grab his finger in a strong grip that clearly warned him not to take it back for any reason.

“Oh.”

He sniffled again, his lower lip slightly quivering. _Just slightly_, he stubbornly repeated to himself, but Byleth saw it all the same and laughed softly again.

He pressed his forehead on the child’s, pushing back his tears with all the might he possessed, and murmured, while staring at his sleeping face with awe:

“We need to find him a nickname.”

“My father used to call me ‘kid’, but…” Byleth’s smile told him she knew he wanted something better, more personal, for their son. “Maybe you have something else in mind?”

“I’m not sure. You are my sparrow – he could be…”

He hummed, looking at Jeralt and studying his face. It was round like Byleth’s and his hair was dark like his; she was right, he could already see how similar his nose was to his own. He was adorable, cute - words he rarely used, but which were perfect to describe his son.

“Our raven…?”

Ravens were brilliant creatures with strong family ties. He knew many considered them to be bad omens, especially on battlefields and during war times, but he had always liked them.

He timidly glanced at Byleth to see her reaction – she was still smiling, not a trace of confusion or disagreement on her face.

“I think that’s beautiful, honey. It fits his hair and eyes well.”

He smiled relieved and looked back at Jeralt, who was still sleeping peacefully, his small hand wrapped around his finger in the softest and strongest of vices.

\- - -

He never left Byleth and little Jeralt’s side. He apologized to Lady Edelgard, saying he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – work on his ministerial duties for the time being. His wife and their son needed all his care and attention, especially Byleth, whom the pregnancy had left particularly weak.

Lady Edelgard smacked him on the head, saying she wouldn’t expect anything else.

“If you even just dare send _one_ signed document to the Palace, I will be extremely cross with you.”

And so, his marital life continued and his fatherhood began.

He had much to learn, he discovered without much surprise. The books and the servants’ advice were helpful, but he and Byleth lacked experience and they could gain that only by living each day, studying their son’s preferences and needs, and staying by his side.

Byleth soon started feeling restless and guilty, despite Hubert’s constant reassurances. One day, she shocked him with her words and the sombre look on her face – so much, he wondered with horror whether he had successfully comforted her or not during those days.

“I feel useless.”

He cursed himself for all the times he had highlighted the importance of one’s usefulness within the Empire. He had done so especially in the past, when he was a student at the Officer Academy, but also during the war and he could see, now, how his words and mentality had affected her.

She was scared of disappointing him. Did she fear he would love her less, just because she couldn’t leave the bed, take care of their son with him, and work on documents and reports?

“My sparrow.” he breathed out, sitting at her side on the bed, his eyes wide. Jeralt was sleeping in her arms, wrapped in a colourful, silky cloth, one of the many gifts from Lady Edelgard.

“I wish I could do more.” She sighed, tracing Jeralt’s cheek. “I wish I could help you with our baby, play with him in the garden, prepare a meal for you for once, instead of the other way around.”

“Byleth.” His voice was a whisper full of anguish and concern. “Byleth, don’t say that. Don’t even think about these things.”

“You could finish all your paperwork and help Edelgard, that way.”

“_Byleth_.”

She looked up at him, startled, and saw his desperate look.

“How can you call yourself useless? You _gave birth _to our son.” He gently took her hand, careful not to awaken Jeralt. “You almost died to bring him into this world. You were _ready _to die for him. And you spend every waking moment of your day cuddling him, kissing him, feeding him even though your body needs rest.”

“I know, but…”

“Little sparrow.” He turned her head so that he could look at her again. Her eyes were shiny with tears and he cursed himself again. He had done this to her, he and his obsessions, he and his need to carry out everything perfectly, to know everything, to be perfect.

“You are my wife. Reports and documents count nothing next to you. I am _honoured _to take care of you and help you feel better.” He drew in a sharp breath, forcing himself not to cry. “Please. Don’t ever say such things again.”

“I’m sorry.” She smiled and cupped his cheek, realizing how bad he felt. “I won’t say that again, I promise.”

He felt even worse, because he had now caused the focus to shift on him. _She _was the one feeling upset; she was the one that needed comfort and more convincing reassurances.

But he was convincing only when threatening someone. He had improved as a husband in those two years, but words still failed him sometimes and he didn’t always succeed in expressing clearly all the love and admiration he had for her.

Written words, however… those had never failed him. He had always been good at expressing his feelings and thoughts in written form. He had never had the chance to write love letters, before – he had always ever composed threats, plans, requests, demands -, but he knew he could do it way more easily than speaking out loud.

Byleth slept often, due to the fatigue that still pervaded her now-normal human body. He had many hours at his disposal during which he could write letters and messages to her without being discovered.

Little Jeralt was his only witness to this. The day he began writing the first letter, he kept his cradle close at hand in the study, both to rock him when he wanted to sleep and to tickle his belly and caress his cheeks.

He wrote a long letter to Byleth with his free hand, pouring onto the paper all the love and adoration he had for her, all the things left unsaid, all the feelings and thoughts about her he had always been too embarrassed to say out loud. He scolded himself for not having thought about this sooner.

After finishing, he took Jeralt in his arms and read the letter to him.

“Do you think your mother will like it?” He pressed his lips on his cheek while checking the last lines. He loved kissing his face, it was soft and chubby and it smelled like milk.

Jeralt giggled, flailing his little arms, and Hubert smiled down at him, nuzzling his nose.

“Would you like one, too? You could read it once you have grown up.”

Another happy sound from his son – Hubert took it as a ‘yes’ and kissed his cheek one last time before putting him back into his comfortable cradle.

“Very well, then. I shall write a letter for you, too.”

But Jeralt started fussing, not wanting to lie down; he hurried to take him back into his arms, holding him gently against his chest and tickling him with the feather of his quill. His giggles and gummy smile made him beam at him – a great warmth spread all over him, similar to the one he felt with Byleth.

“You are a demanding little raven. Always asking for attention.” He pressed his lips on his forehead, laughing when two tiny hands poked his chin. “Yes, yes, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wrote a letter full of love and care for him as well. He placed it on the desk in Jeralt’s room, which had already been prepared and furnished with comfortable furniture suitable for a child, unlike the dark woods and walls Hubert had grown up with during his childhood and adolescence.

“I will write a letter for you and your mother every day, until you are grown enough to read yours.”

He nuzzled his face as he carried him back to the bedroom, carrying the light cradle with his free hand.

“And even beyond that, if you don’t mind it.”

Byleth was still sleeping. He hid his letter for her under her pillow, sure she would find it, and then he lied down, placing Jeralt between them. They had started sleeping like that since his birth – it was a way to reassure themselves that their child was safe and warm.

Hubert slept for an hour or so; when he woke up, he saw Byleth sitting up, his letter in her hands. There was a happy, flustered smile on her face and as she turned to look at him, as if sensing he was awake, her smile broadened and he could see her glistening eyes and red cheeks.

She leaned down to kiss him and he blushed, a timid expression on his face. But he was smiling, too, and there was no need for spoken words. She carefully folded the letter and got up on wobbly legs to put it inside a wooden box on the bookshelf.

“Would you like to take a bath with me?” he asked, bolder than ever, the first time he asked her such a thing despite two years of marriage, countless times spent in bed together, and their son sleeping soundly between them.

She was surprised, but also happy and flattered, and she accepted with an even bigger smile.

“My body changed a little, though.” she said, as if to apologize, while he drew a hot bath in the comfort room. She wasn’t ashamed of it, only objective – he knew how much she yearned to go back to training and moving around like she would do before the pregnancy.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” he reassured her. He had mentioned the same in his long letter – how she would always be strong and beautiful to him, no matter what – and he was happy and relieved to see it had worked. She looked calm and serene, now.

He kept writing more letters for her and Jeralt. Those addressed to the child were placed on the white desk in his room; those addressed to Byleth were hidden in their bedroom for her to find them.

It became a game, one which they both gladly played. She always replied to him, hiding her own messages under his pillow, under his plate on the round table where they ate their meals, even underneath Jeralt’s clothes.

The first time Hubert found one, he almost combusted on the spot. He read and reread it the whole day, smiling at the three pages like a fool, then he thanked her with a kiss and a hug and put the precious envelope in another wooden box they had on another bookshelf.

It was filled with old documents he had kept for unknown reasons – he tossed them all into the fire, ready to make space for all the letters his wife would write for him.

Once Byleth recovered enough to stand and walk for longer periods of time, they started spending the day in the garden. She played with Jeralt, her face filled with so great a joy and love, Hubert felt the urge to draw it or paint it somewhere. Sadly, he wasn’t an artist – he couldn’t even make decent portraits like Lady Edelgard could -, so he contented himself with the sight alone, burning it onto his memory and heart.

“Let’s teach your dad how to make flower crowns.” she said, daisies and other flowers gathered on her lap. Jeralt was touching them, squishing their petals with great curiosity.

“Will you mark my work at the end of the lesson, Professor?” Hubert teased her, earning himself a playful slap on the hand.

“No, but I will give you a big kiss if you do a good job, _husband_.”

“Oh, better than an A, that’s for sure!” He dodged her next slap, laughing. Jeralt looked up at him and giggled cheerfully from his spot on the warm grass, his back resting against his mother’s legs.

Hubert took a flower and turned it in his hands. It was a peculiar specimen, absolutely harmless in that state, but deadly if boiled and its liquids used as poison for blades. It was one of the first flowers his father had taught him about, when he was just a four- or five-years old child.

_“See this one, Hubert?”_

_“It’s beautiful, Father.” he had said, innocent and naïve, and his father had hummed, unsatisfied with his response._

_“Don’t care about that. Its beauty is of no importance – its true usefulness is tied to its properties once it’s boiled. You can poison knives or arrows with its juices. The targets die after a few minutes of agony as their veins burn.”_

_He had drawn back his hand, gasping, already picturing screaming people in his head. He loved that flower – it was soft, red, and it smelled so sweet, but the knowledge his father had just given him was showing it to him under a new, terrifying light. _

_Why had his father told him that? he had thought in that moment, forgetting about their lessons for a moment. Why couldn’t he just admire flowers for what they were, not for what people had forced them to become, weapons and poisons to hurt other people?_

_“It’s called ‘blood boiler’. Remember that and remember how it looks like.”_

_“That’s… that’s its only name?”_

_His father had given him a long, unreadable look._

_“Yes, it is. Why would it need any other name?”_

Hubert turned to his son and held the flower out for him to see it.

“See this one, little raven?” He waved it in front of Jeralt’s face. He gurgled and reached out for it and Hubert let him take it. “See how red the petals are? That’s why it is called ‘earth’s ruby’.”

He took another one, a bigger one, and started following Byleth’s motions with her hands to craft the first flower crown of his life. He smiled at his son and ruffled his soft hair before continuing.

“It’s a beautiful flower. It will suit your hair nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how late this chapter is! Uni started again and my health is a bit frail due to the colder weather, so I needed to take things slow ; v ;


	11. Chapter 11

After a month and a half, Byleth was finally given permission to go back to her old life.

She had to promise to keep drinking her potions and nutritious drinks for three more months, but Manuela assured her and Hubert that her body had recovered well and that her heart was strong as ever.

In all that time they had spent at home, taking care of each other and their little Jeralt, Edelgard had been supported and helped by Ferdinand and their other friends, Ministers in their own right like Caspar, or advisors and scholars like Dorothea and Linhardt.

Even Petra, despite the great distance, had offered her advice and ideas and Bernadetta had replied to all her letters, offering the Emperor a more emotional and warmer look on things.

All in all, she had been in good hands, protected and aided almost as well as before, but Hubert and Byleth had always been her pillars of support and she was delighted to have them back in the Palace, working at her side, surrounding her with their dry wit and dimpled smiles.

Also, they brought Jeralt.

Refusing to leave him at House Vestra with a nanny, wishing to watch over him every second of the day, Byleth and Hubert asked the Emperor for a favour, requesting a nursery room to be added next to their quarters in the Palace.

Edelgard was more than happy to accept – that little bundle of joy had already stolen her heart.

The servants of the Palace fell in love with him as well. They cooed at him, blew kisses at him from afar, and even found the courage to stop Hubert and Byleth in the corridors to offer them their congratulations. Hubert would usually smile, proud and timid, while Byleth would thank them and laugh merrily.

Their friends had often seen him at home after his birth, but they could spoil him even better, now, since he spent so much time in the Palace with his parents.

Lady Edelgard let him sit on her lap or even on her throne and played with his hands, told him stories, made funny faces at him. She looked like a completely different person when he was near her – nobody had ever seen her smile so much and so carefreely before.

Ferdie would always seize the chance to rock him in his arms, clicking his tongue as though he was a horse; Bernadetta would give him hand-made plushes and kiss his head, accepting his wet kisses in return with a laugh that didn’t hide any nervousness.

Linhardt appreciated his love for naps and had declared him to be “a very smart child”. Petra sent gifts and long letters every week, while Caspar insisted to take him to the training grounds to let him get accustomed to weapons and armours.

At first, Hubert refused. He didn’t want his child to be surrounded by instruments of war so soon – if everything went according to plan, Those Who Slithered in The Dark would soon be eliminated and little Jeralt would need to learn how to defend himself only much later.

However, he had to give in, for Byleth had to train the recruits and soldiers and he and their friends couldn’t always take care of Jeralt in her place.

The first time she brought her son to the large grounds where the Imperial soldiers trained, all eyes were set on her. Some men stared at the innocent soul gurgling in her arms; other snorted and made funny faces at him; some more frowned, worried about him.

But Byleth had grown up in a similar manner – one of the first things she had seen in her life had been her father’s lance; one of the first things she had learned had been swordsmanship. She wasn’t worried about the influence and effects that such a sight could give to her child.

She brought his cradle to the training grounds and placed it not too far from her, so that she could show the right movements to the recruits while keeping him close.

He laughed and giggled the whole time, as though he wanted to cheer the soldiers on. Byleth asked for his opinion every time she started a new set of motions and she slightly changed her plans depending on his reaction.

“He’s a lively little fellow.” one of the soldiers told her and she agreed with a smile, ruffling Jeralt’s black hair. It wasn’t as dark as Hubert and it looked almost blueish under the sun, but it wasn’t her colour either. She found it very beautiful.

“How has he been?” Hubert asked her, anxiously, when they reunited at lunch.

“He enjoyed the lesson more than the soldiers did.”

Despite her worry the time before their son’s birth, she was now the calmest among the two of them. Perhaps it was because of her own childhood, of her experience as a teacher and strategist, or a vague remnant of that imperturbable state of mind that had characterized most of her life – she wasn’t sure, but much to her and Hubert’s surprise, _he _was the one who most lost his composure around the child and most fretted over him.

This became even more evident the day he had to bring him to one of his meetings. Byleth was needed elsewhere not far from the Capital, while Edelgard and everyone else were too busy with their own tasks to take care of the baby.

They still hated the idea of giving him to a nanny – Hubert didn’t trust people and anything could happen. Jeralt could be kidnapped, hurt, _killed_ (the very thought of it trapped his heart in a case of ice), and Byleth completely agreed with him about this.

So, he took him to the meeting with his spies. They knew he had a son, but none of them had met him yet. They were surprised to see the little one giggling and smiling in Count Vestra’s arms, his perfect opposite, and yet so similar to him and Byleth.

“He is… very cheerful.” a spy mumbled, not believing her eyes. She had worked for House Vestra for decades and none of its members had ever smiled and laughed like that. They had never smiled and laughed _at all_, except for some upsetting cackles from Hubert.

“He is.” he confirmed, proud; Jeralt was a bringer of joy, something he had never been and could never be, and he wanted people to appreciate him and admire him.

That meeting was more important than others, he soon realized. The Slitherers’ main base had probably been found, a place they called Shambhala, full of their mysterious technology, hidden underground as all their strongholds were.

He and his spies had been working on finding it for several months, now, and the fact that they had finally succeeded meant that their two-years war in the dark could come to an end sooner than they had anticipated.

He looked down at Jeralt, his heart beating fast. He and his wife wouldn’t need to fear for their little one anymore. They would soon be freed of that threat looming over their heads and Jeralt would know only peace and serenity in his life.

_This is one of the many gifts I will give to you, my raven. _he thought, caressing his cheek. _I will give you the peace you deserve, no matter the cost._

But, despite that overused sentence, he actually didn’t want to pay _any_ price. He would never put Byleth in danger, for example, even if that meant ensuring a future of peace for Jeralt and all Fòdlan.

And then he realized, in that secret room of the Palace where only he, Byleth, and the Emperor were allowed, that he would _hesitate_ in protecting the Empire. He would never betray Lady Edelgard and everything she had suffered for, but if before he would have thrown everything and everyone except Byleth into the eternal flames to preserve the Empire, he would now think twice if it meant harming Jeralt.

If someone asked him to choose between Adrestia and his son, he didn’t know what the answer would be.

Together with this first realization, another one came, while the spies were busy tidying up their pile of notes and discussing among themselves.

He _understood _his father for the first time in his life. He understood the reason why he had betrayed the Emperor after a millennium of loyalty, after spending years to carve an infallible dedication to the Empire into Hubert’s very soul.

He had _loved _him, in his own twisted, despicable way. He had shown it to him in the only way he knew – by destroying and ruining people, by betraying everyone and everything he and Hubert had believed in, only to ensure his son would be safe and have more power to protect himself.

He realized this now after years spent hating and despising him. Jeralt’s birth had opened his eyes – now he too was a father and even though betrayal would never cross his mind, the love he had for his son – a good kind of love, pure and based on freedom and high values – would make him hesitate and would probably do so for the rest of his life.

He excused himself from the room and the spies didn’t pay it much mind, believing he had to take care of his son. He hid in a storeroom nearby and pressed his face into Jeralt’s chest, inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm down. Jeralt cooed and patted his cheeks with his chubby hands.

“My son.” he said, holding back tears. “My beloved son.”

Jeralt cooed louder, as though he was aware of his pain. Hubert raised his face and looked at him, his eyes burning, his throat feeling too tight.

“I will protect you.” he swore. “I will protect you without hurting you, without failing you. I will make you proud of me.”

When he returned to the meeting room, his eyes were just a little bit red, but the spies didn’t notice it or pretended not to. He acted normally, without showing any of his inner turmoil, even though his protectiveness toward his son was clear as day.

He shushed a spy as he started describing the ways he had tortured an Agarthan to learn more about their subterranean pathways and secret passages. Hubert looked down at Jeralt, who was playing and fidgeting with the two-headed eagle plush Edelgard had gifted him, and covered his ear with a hand while pressing him closer to his chest so that his other ear would be covered, too.

“Now you may speak.” he politely told the spy, who looked at him as though he had gone mad.

Everyone had expected him to _submerge _his son in the duties of House Vestra since from his birth, just like every other head of the House had done in the past. But he would keep his little one away from that world for the time being, even though he couldn’t understand many words yet.

He wouldn’t let blood and darkness soil him.

\- - -

Byleth, of course, noticed that something was off. She could see it from his eyes, she said, and from the way he held their son and looked at him.

“It’s…” He sighed, torn between the desire to tell her everything he had learned about himself in those few hours and saying nothing to avoid giving her one more burden.

But they were married, they have been for two years, now, and he always told her the truth, without ever holding back.

And so he started talking, Jeralt still in his arms. And she listened, sitting next to him, her hand on his knee.

“I will never betray the Emperor.” he said at the end, his voice hoarse. “But I will never betray you and our son, either.”

He turned to her, suddenly nervous, but also happy and hopeful. “Byleth, my sparrow. I once told you that I would give you my second life, the one that peace provided us. However…”

He took a deep breath, fighting with something inside of him which he couldn’t name – it actually was more like a rough dance than a fight, though, and he enjoyed it, for he was learning the steps with ease and words came out easily.

“However, I do not wish to give you _spares_, the second version of something which I already devoted to someone else, no matter who they may be.”

Byleth’s eyebrows rose and she looked at him the same way she had when he had declared his love to her on the Goddess Tower. There, in their bedroom of the Palace where sunlight was abundant and their son slept peacefully in his arms, he felt like a new man, a new version of Hubert Von Vestra, who in his adolescence had only ever allowed duty and admiration towards his Emperor to linger in his heart.

“I once believed to be perfect in my duties and clever and strong enough to be able to divide myself, to separate one part of myself from another. I believed I could have more than one life. I now know that is wrong; that is what my father did, thinking it would help me and the Empire, but he actually made everything worse and ruined any chance we had of finally knowing each other.”

She nodded slowly, still not understanding what he was getting at. He swallowed and rested his free, bare hand on top of hers. He didn’t wear gloves when he held and touched Jeralt.

“Byleth, would you accept the _only_ life I have? It’s full of darkness and blood, but it’s not artificial, it’s not fake, and I want you to be part of it.”

He gripped her fingers tightly, his blood flowing too fast in his veins, roaring in his ears. “You won’t be second to one, I swear this. The dedication I have for the Emperor and her Empire is different from the one I have for you and our son.”

“Oh, Hubert.” She smiled at him, her eyes bright and filled with tears. “I know that. Haven’t we been living like that for the past two years? I was only waiting for you to ask.”

He smiled, too. He felt the same way he had felt when she had accepted his proposal – elated and dumbfounded, speechless and grateful, overjoyed and hopeful for the future.

He kissed her, careful not to awaken Jeralt, and she cupped his cheek and stroked his cheekbone and the soft space under his eye, which was dark and sunken with all the hours of sleep he lost every day due to his ministerial work.

Later that night, she pressed her body against his and he finally understood why she had put Jeralt’s cradle far from their bed.

Her breasts were fuller, firmer, and her flesh still soft from childbirth. He had missed her touch and the feeling of having her clench around his hard length, but he was worried about her health. He feared it was still too soon.

“I don’t want to be a brute, my sparrow.” he said softly, holding her hands with all the gentleness he possessed. He desired her and she could feel that, his cock already hard and pushing against his pants, but the labour had hurt her so much and she had suffered a lot. He didn’t want her to strain herself.

“Would you be very uncomfortable if we did it now?” she asked, tracing a small scar on his shoulder.

“I’m worried about _you _feeling uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think I will be. I recovered nicely, nothing hurts anymore.”

He made a low sound, unsure, torn between his concern for her and the desire to make her feel good and happy. Brilliant and wise as ever, she understood that and smiled at him in that way that made his chest tighten in that delightful way and his cheeks burn.

“Let’s wait some more, then. Until you will feel comfortable again.”

“Thank you.” he sighed, relieved. “The thought of entering you now, after what you went through…”

“My silly hawk.” she said and he realized with one second of delay that she had used a nickname, her own name for him, a name with feathers and a beak, similar to an eagle, a bird like her and their son.

His ears burned, too, and he beamed at her like the child he had never been. Her smile broadened and she nestled in his arms; he kissed her forehead and her hair and felt invincible.

\- - -

He wasn’t and he realized that only too late.

Three months later, as Lady Edelgard prepared her troops to march on Shambhala to finally put an end to that maddening conflict that had lasted millennia, a spy of the enemy entered the Palace and he didn’t notice them.

He and Byleth had been so busy, both with Jeralt and the several tasks concerning the imminent, decisive battle – he was distracted, his mind occupied by thousands of problems and preparations to make.

Bernadetta would remain in her lands, far from the battle. If something happened to them, Hubert and Byleth asked her when bringing Jeralt to her, could she please take care of him in their stead?

“Petra will help you, too. Together, you would raise him well.”

She cried and sobbed and wailed, making Jeralt cry as well, but in the end, she calmed down enough to reassure them.

“Of course I will! I… I’m not sure I’m the right one for this, but… but I’ll do my best! For you and little Jeralt!” She kissed his forehead, then looked at them with pleading eyes. “Don’t do anything reckless. He needs you, alright? You are his parents, after all.”

“We must plan for every possibility.” Hubert replied gently while Byleth leaned down to kiss the little one’s cheek. There was a confident expression on her face, one she would often have before a battle, but this time it was marred by worry and fear, the first time he saw such a mix on her face before a decisive fight.

“Don’t worry.” he told her as they rode back to the Palace. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Byleth. You will see our son grow.”

“I want you to be there with me.” she said, placing her hands on his as he held the reins. “Please, Hubert. Promise me you will be careful.”

“I promise.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “We will win this together, my sparrow. And then our son will be truly and completely safe.”

They arrived at the Palace late in the evening – Lady Edelgard, Ferdinand, and Caspar were discussing the state of the army with some soldiers and the generals who would lead them through another access to Shambhala, an access Hubert had been able to find after some careful studies and espionage.

He was so tired and nervous for what was about to come that he didn’t scan the room like he would usually do. Caspar and Ferdinand’s presence meant that Edelgard hadn’t been and wouldn’t be in danger, after all.

He followed Byleth to the dais, already repeating in his mind all the things that needed to be finished before the fateful march that waited for them at dawn. He thought of Jeralt, of his happy smile whenever Byleth sang to him and his cheerful gurgles whenever he kissed his round cheeks.

_I won’t fail you, my son. _he swore again and he failed to notice Byleth’s frown as she stared at a soldier. Edelgard and the others didn’t see it, either; they were too busy discussing that strategy with the generals, pointing at a map on a large table.

_Did we give Bernadetta Jeralt’s warm socks? He likes sleeping with them. _He smiled as he thought of him. _Heh. He will probably grow up hating the cold, I can already tell. _

Byleth’s voice tore through the throne room like her Sword of the Creator, now a non-magic, but still sharp weapon.

“Who are you?”

The soldier she had addressed tensed up. His face was partially hidden by his helmet, like the other soldier’s faces were, but his eyes were visible and Byleth was staring into them with suspicion which quickly turned into furious certainty.

Lady Edelgard and the others looked up, alarmed, and time seemed to stop for Hubert.

“You aren’t one of the soldiers I trained for this mission. Who are you?”

She walked to him while he stepped back, still quiet. She drew her sword, ready to strike him down since his silence was answer enough, but he was faster.

He drew a knife he had concealed in his belt – _just like I do_, Hubert thought distractedly, focused on the weapon itself. It was identical to the one Kronya had used on Jeralt, Byleth’s father, and the alloy of its blade was of a kind unknown to Fòdlan.

But he had seen that kind of technology many times before – he had even worked with it, when the Agarthans had allowed it. He knew how painful and deadly it was. Byleth knew it, too, for it had killed her father.

“Teacher!”

“Professor!”

“Lady Vestra!”

He didn’t say anything. He only channelled his magic into his fingers and snapped them, teleporting in front of Byleth, turning the Slitherers’ own spell against them. But there was no time to attack, not enough time to channel a different kind of magic into his hands and destroy that fiend who had dared attack his beloved wife.

So he did the only thing he could do to save her: he accepted the knife into his flesh, accepted the scorching darkness that it held into his very being, so that it couldn’t touch and hurt her. He consumed it and poured it into himself and he smiled through his pained grimace when he felt Byleth – _his adored, kind, safe wife _– move behind him.

She impaled the Slitherer on the Sword of the Creator and the man finally loosened his grip on the knife before crumbling down on the floor.

“_Hubert!_”

He heard her call as he wobbled on his feet, the blade in his stomach burning stronger, the familiar taste and scent of copper in his mouth and nostrils. He drew in a sharp breath and fell into her warm arms.

“Hubert!” Byleth called again, frantic and desperate. “Hubert, talk to me!”

Around them, chaos and loud voices, but he had eyes and ears only for her. He saw her pale face and her crying eyes as she gently lied him down onto the marble floor.

“Byleth.” he murmured, his voice hoarse and rough, barely intelligible. He managed to raise a hand to caress her cheek, but his glove was filthy with blood – his own – and it left a dark, red mark on it.

“Sparrow.” he added, seeing and feeling her tears fall on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Hubert, please.” she sobbed, biting her lower lip. “You promised. Please, _please_, don’t leave me.”

_I won’t. _he wanted to promise out loud to reassure her, but then darkness surrounded his vision, filled it – he had _poured _it into himself, after all – and the last thing he thought about before completely losing consciousness was Jeralt, laughing happily in Byleth’s arms as she smiled down at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late chapter! Life has been pretty hectic since uni started again ; v ; 
> 
> BUT YEAH, HUBERT GOT STABBITY STABBED. Being Byleth is suffering, imagine watching your father die like that AND THEN witnessing the same event with your husband ; - ;


	12. Chapter 12

A burning ache woke him up.

At first, he didn’t understand where he was. He couldn’t even remember _who _he was and whatever he was doing in that bed. Then, it all came back to him and he gasped, recognizing the ceiling of the infirmary of the Palace.

Daylight entered from the high windows. There was a pungent smell in the air, one he had learned to associate with vulneraries and blood, and everything was quiet, except for the birds outside.

Surely Her Majesty had not postponed the siege on Shambhala to wait for him to recover, he thought with shame and bitter disappointment. If he was there in the Palace, it meant the Empire had not fallen. She and Byleth had succeeded, he was sure of that. Together, his Emperor and his wife could do anything.

Fear slowly gripped his heart, though; he was still alive, even after that assassination attempt initially aimed at Byleth. But what of her? Had she survived the battle? She was a formidable warrior, but he was used to being always at her side, keeping an eye on her and Lady Edelgard.

Were they unharmed? There would have been more chaos and less serene quiet, had something gone wrong, he was sure of that. Or maybe the Palace was mourning the loss of their best strategist or of the Emperor or both – or maybe they were fine, but many of their friends had perished.

He realized with a bit of surprise – but not that much – that even that thought made him shake with fear and sorrow. He wanted everyone to survive. Everyone deserved as much.

But _his wife_…! Where was Byleth? What if she was in the same infirmary, wounded and burned? Was she recovering under the healers’ hands? What about little Jeralt? Was he safe, too?

Those Who Slithered in the Dark were cruel beasts, he knew that better than anyone else, and the assassination attempt had been further proof of that. They wanted her dead not just because she had been connected to the Goddess, but also due to her connections with Lady Edelgard and _him_.

He took a deep breath and tried to sit up, but the bandages tightly wrapped around his stomach and the burning ache that came from there stopped him. He felt weak and drained. It was a miracle he had survived a hit from one of the Slitherers’ infamous knives.

“You should rest some more.”

He jumped and turned to the source of the voice. His sight was a bit blurred and he had missed to see the person sitting next to his bed.

“Byleth!”

She smiled at him, a relieved, bright smile which soon got replaced by her old blank, serious expression. Jeralt was in her arms, sleeping soundly.

Hubert let out a sigh of relief, then shame filled him. He had disappointed her and the Emperor. He hadn’t been there with them when they had needed him most. That was probably why Byleth looked so upset and he couldn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take part in the battle. How are you? And Lady Edelgard? Did we have many casualties? Are those monsters finally gone from this earth?”

Byleth raised an eyebrow in surprise, then shook her head.

“We didn’t march our troops to Shambhala, Hubert.”

“_What_?”

She smiled at him again.

“We couldn’t deal the final blow without you, could we?”

“But…! But…!” He tried to sit up again, but his burning wound stopped him from doing so. He hissed and fell back on the pillow, staring at his wife with shock.

“Byleth.” he murmured. “There were so many other good sorcerers you could have brought in battle. I’m not the only skilled one. We lost a considerable amount of time and a good chance, not to mention the…”

“It’s not about your abilities, you foolish man.” she retorted with more bite than he had ever heard before in her voice. His shock increased and he almost reeled back, as if her words had physically pushed him back.

“It’s about _you_. Your presence. You have been at our side since from the start. Edelgard and I couldn’t possibly end this without you – it wouldn’t have been fair. Edelgard agrees with me.”

He swallowed and looked at the ceiling, trying not to show how flattered and touched he was. But Byleth knew him well and she noticed the pink colour of his ears and the light in his eyes, so she laughed softly.

But there was still something off in her voice. He knew her well, too.

“Then why are you so angry, my sparrow?”

“I’m not angry.” she lied, knowing he knew she was. She looked down at their son, her jaw tight, her lips pale. There were dark circles under her eyes and he felt bad – had she been at his side for the whole time?

How long had he been in that bed, anyway?

“Yes, you are.” He reached out with his hand, but she didn’t take it. It hurt him more than the knife that had pierced his flesh.

“Byleth.” he called, almost pleading, and she finally looked up, sighed, and grasped his fingers, which closed tightly around hers.

“Tell me.”

“You almost died.” she said quietly, looking at their joined hands. “Linhardt, Manuela, and I spent three days trying to remove the poison from your body. Your blood was acting in a strange way and your wound wouldn’t close, no matter how hard we tried.”

She had tended to him, too? Love and joy flooded his heart, but he also felt worse, for he now realized why she looked so tired and spent. Her healing magic was strong and effective, but he knew how draining it could be, if used too much too often.

“Then you finally started to recover. We’ve been keeping an eye on you for two weeks, now.” She gave him a pointed look. “You won’t be able to eat solid food for a while. And forget about coffee for at least a few months.”

“Ah. The worst news I got today.”

She pinched his hand and he laughed, but had to stop immediately, for his stomach hurt too much. He coughed a little, but thankfully he didn’t spit any blood.

“I still don’t understand why you are angry at me.” he admitted, looking at her with a placid and almost timid look. She glared at him and he flinched back.

“I said you almost _died_. You almost left me and our son alone.”

“Byleth…”

She was keeping her voice low to avoid bothering Jeralt, but her tone was dripping with rage and despair and relief all mixed together. He saw tears in her eyes.

“What were you thinking, teleporting yourself in front of me that way? Didn’t you think about our son? About the future of the Empire and everything you and Edelgard have worked so hard for?”

“I wanted to save you.” He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. It was shaking. “Byleth, my sparrow. Even had I died, I knew you would have helped Lady Edelgard accomplish her mission and dream. I knew you would have raised our Jeralt in the best way possible.”

“_Alone_.” She was openly crying, now, her glare making holes in his heart. “Without you, without your love.”

“I was selfish, I know. I cannot live without you. When I saw you being in danger, I had to act.” His voice and gaze became desperate as he remembered that awful scene, the knife glinting in the light, coming ever closer to her. “Byleth, you wouldn’t have survived that hit. I know that.”

“No, you cannot be certain of that. If _you_ survived, a mage with much less strength and stamina than me, then I would have pulled through as well.”

“I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t.” He gripped her hand as if his life depended on it. “Byleth, I can’t lose you. Not because you are a great asset for this war, but because _I love you_.” His eyes were wet with tears, too, and he drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I frightened you and almost left you and our son without me, but I had to do it.”

“I miss my old powers.” she said softly, her face red, with tear-streaks on her cheeks. “I was more powerful with them. I could protect more people and fix more problems.”

“The Goddess dwelling within you didn’t make you who you are, Byleth.” He motioned for her to come closer and she did so, moving her chair until her knees touched the edge of the bed. “You are a formidable strategist and warrior, with or without powers. They only made things a bit easier for you, but they weren’t the reason for your brilliance and wisdom.”

She sighed and gave him a sad smile, as if to say he didn’t know the whole story or couldn’t really understand. Perhaps that was true, but he still believed he was right and he hoped she would soon see it, too.

She sat on the bed and helped him move a bit to lie down at his side, placing Jeralt between them. He stroked his cheek with a finger, relieved and happy beyond words that he could still do it, that he was still alive to love him and love Byleth. She watched him in silence, with her old serious expression; it reminded him of the Academy days, of the war to secure the Empire’s domination across Fòdlan.

“My sparrow.” he said, moving his hand to touch hers. She sighed again and took his hand a second time, her eyes softening.

“I won’t ask you to promise to never do it again.” she said. “I know it would be useless - you would ask me to promise the same and I cannot do it.”

She smiled at him, a real, warm smile full of love and relief. “But please, at least _try _to stay at my side until we are both white-haired and wrinkled.”

He laughed softly and kissed her hand.

“That, I can promise.”

“And thank you for saving my life.”

Her eyes were glinting in the sunlight, Byleth’s star-like eyes which always gave him so much respite. He pulled her closer, their son pressed safely between them.

“You don’t need to thank me. What kind of husband would I be, if I didn’t care for my wife’s life?”

She rested her head on his shoulder, careful not to bump against his wound with her knees or to awaken Jeralt. She kissed Hubert’s hand in return, making him blush, and murmured tenderly:

“My sweet, silly hawk.”

They fell asleep together and Hubert was sure he would soon recover completely, aided by her love and presence.

\- - -

He was right, for after three more days he was finally able to stand up and walk. He received everyone’s flowers and wishes of good health with a sincere smile and a grateful bow of his head and let Lady Edelgard thank him for having saved so quickly her dear Professor.

She was terribly saddened by his being wounded, but she was convinced he had done the right thing. She also reassured him about the final battle, saying nobody had any intention of marching towards Shambhala without him.

“I thank you for waiting for me, Your Majesty. It is a great honour.”

“Nonsense, Hubert. Of course we would wait for you – Those Who Slither in the Dark have hurt you as much as they hurt me or anyone else, although in different ways.”

She sighed and eyed him in a strange way.

“The Professor was very upset – I never saw her being so worried. If the group and little Jeralt hadn’t been there for her…”

“I know.” Hubert let out a heavy sigh. He would never regret his gesture – not when Byleth was still breathing -, but he felt guilty for having caused her so much anguish.

“I apologize to you and the others as well, Your Majesty. Slowing the whole operation down wasn’t my intention.”

“You did well, I already told you that.”

He smiled and slowly closed the hand Byleth had held until she had gone away to change Jeralt’s diapers. He could still feel her warmth.

“I know.” he repeated and even though he really hadn’t wanted to disrupt their march that way, he found himself not really minding it. What most mattered was Byleth’s safety – the Slitherers could wait a few more weeks and he would make sure to make them pay tenfold for what they had tried to do to his wife.

Several weeks later, he had recovered – not fully, for his stomach still troubled him and his wound was sore and scarring in an ugly way, but at least he could walk, run, and summon magic again without doubling over in pain and panting like an old man.

Lady Edelgard and Byleth had been preparing the army again, this time ensuring no spy had infiltrated their ranks. He still couldn’t understand how such a crucial mistake had happened and he blamed himself entirely, refusing to listen to Byleth’s protests.

“I am a Vestra. _I _am supposed to infiltrate people into our enemy’s ranks, not the other way around!”

“I’m a Vestra, too, now.” she reminded him with a stern look. “And did you also forget that I’m tasked with the army’s training and wellbeing? I am the one who let the Slitherers play us like fools, Hubert.”

She hadn’t completely forgiven him yet – her worry and despair had been too much, too strong – and he felt doubly bad for having made her think he had forgotten about her belonging to House Vestra. But how could he ever forget it? That she was a part of his family, a new addition to it thanks to _their marriage_, was a gift he still believed he didn’t deserve.

“You are a Vestra indeed.” he reassured her, taking her hand. He was finally back in their quarters of the Palace, allowed to leave the infirmary and rest at her side, in their large bed, in her arms.

Byleth pouted, but didn’t take her hand away; he placed his other one on top of it, encasing it in protective warmth.

“You are the Countess Vestra and I’m incredibly grateful for all the things you accomplished, for all the improvements you made. You changed the family and turned it into something better.”

She looked up at him and he was elated to finally see her smile at him.

“You changed _me _for the better.” he continued, returning the smile. “And I believe I know what else is haunting you, my dearest wife. You think it’s your fault I was wounded, don’t you?”

She let out a heavy sigh, not answering right away. She did it only after some seconds of silence.

“If I had found that spy sooner, then you…”

“You are not infallible, Byleth, just like I am not. Just like our Empress is not.”

She gave him an amused smile, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

“That dagger must have damaged your mind as well, for you to say such things. _You_, of all people!”

“Yes, I.” He tutted, patting her hand. “I’m perfectly aware of my faults and other people’s, Lady Edelgard’s included. That is why we must all work together to overcome them and help each other.”

“Goodness! It seems my lessons finally rubbed off on you.”

During the Academy, she had tried several times to convince him that working with others – even just in pairs – was better than working alone and relying simply on one’s lonely self for everything. Back then, he had used seeing other people merely as tools or useful assets that could also be somewhat funny to be around to. She had noticed that and had reprimanded him on several occasions.

It had never worked, but then, during her five-years long absence, her words and ideals had really entered his brain and heart – and now, here he was, blissfully married to her, with many friends who liked him despite his oddities and creepy personality, who trusted him and sent him good health wishes and nutritious food.

And with a son, his little Jeralt who slept peacefully in his crib placed just next to the bed.

“Don’t blame yourself any longer, my sparrow. Promise me this.” He kissed her hand, his smile larger. “We all failed to recognize that threat – we now know we will have to be more careful before the final battle. But please, don’t think this is all your fault and that you are the cause of my physical pain.”

She sighed and promised, although in a mumbled way which didn’t convince him. He demanded a kiss and a tight hug before he could be sure of her peace of mind.

“The Empire has grown strong in these two years.” he said as she lied down next to him. He started stroking her hair. “Once Those Who Slither in the Dark have been dealt with… would you like to go somewhere tranquil and quiet for a few days? I believe the worst of our duties will be over, by then.”

Byleth slowly raised her head to stare at him. She wasn’t surprised, just very happy and excited, and that was when he knew she had forgiven him the scare he had given her and that she was finally relieved and reassured. Funny that the thing that would convince her of his complete recovery would be his proposal of a family holiday – of _taking a break_.

Marriage had indeed changed him for the better, he thought as she cheerfully agreed with a bright smile and kissed him. But his efforts to become a perfect husband and father would not end so soon; he would always strive to be the man she deserved and his mind - instead of focusing on the imminent final battle against their real enemies like it should have done - started planning their family outing.

_Somewhere warm near Derdriu, perhaps?_ he thought, while hid older, stricter self would have made a list of supplies and items to check and prepare for the war. He knew that and he smiled as he held Byleth tightly and kissed her hair – planning that second honeymoon was much better than preparing for a battle he knew they would win.

For he and Byleth would aid their Empress and nothing and nobody – not even a deadly knife or a secret weapon – could come between him and his beloved sparrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! I was really sick and uni has got quite hectic ;_; 
> 
> We are almost at the end! Only one chapter left, according to my calculations! <3


	13. Chapter 13

Those Who Slithered in the Dark withered away in just one night.

Lady Edelgard was ruthless on the bloody battlefield that Shambhala had become – she shouted her orders and looked all her enemies in the eye before cutting them down. She had no mercy to give them and Hubert and Byleth followed her lead.

It wasn’t as glorious as Hubert had fantasized in the past years – many of their soldiers died as well, overwhelmed by the Slitherers’ incomprehensible weapons and foul dark magic.

The air was stale, filled with smoke and the smell of burned flesh, and he was unable to relish in it, since much of that flesh belonged to Imperial soldiers, too. There was glory in annihilating these monsters and making sure they wouldn’t hurt anyone else – _making sure they wouldn’t hurt his son _-, but there was also a deep sadness, a feeling of lingering regret at the destruction of a civilization that had achieved so much even burrowed deep underground as it had been for centuries.

But what the Agarthans could have become was no more than a dream, now – he wasn’t one for nostalgia and regret and the only thing he could do was to push forward and command his battalion to attack or defend and keep an eye on Byleth and Lady Edelgard.

The latter hardly needed his help, he realized immediately. The rage, despair, and sorrow the Agarthans had caused her to feel for so many long years was pouring out of her like an overflowing river of lava and she would leave no survivor in her wake – no one could even come close to her without being cut in half by her Relic or hit her with magic without catching her deadly attention.

She had grown up, the Emperor, the little sister he had never had, the stubborn, kind child who would always grab his tailcoats in the corridors to avoid losing him in the Palace.

He watched Byleth, his beloved wife – she was as strong and beautiful as ever, her face betraying no emotions like old times as she fought the Agarthan mages and dodged their despair-driven spells.

The Sword of the Creator in her hand was no longer active, but it was still a lethal weapon in her expert hands and she seemed to dance on the bloody tiles. He saw the golden glint of her necklace from where the wedding ring he had given her hang; she would remove it and wear it like that before every battle, not wanting to damage it or lose it.

He would do the same; even now, there was a golden necklace around his neck, too, and her ring hanged from it, safely pressed against his heart. He touched it when he needed to catch his breath or to find the courage and strength to press on into that thick darkness that enveloped every corner of Shambhala.

He had caught a glimpse of the Slitherers’ wicked experiments in Lady Edelgard and the weapons they had allowed the Empire to use, but now he was entering their laboratories, their hidden rooms, their inner sanctums, and they were filled with corpses, dead prisoners, and tortured creatures.

He held onto the ring and grasped Byleth’s hand when he met her, not wanting to lose her in that disgusting, terrifying, inhuman place. House Vestra worked in the shadows, but _these _shadows were sick and dangerous and he could not see well in them.

“It will be alright, Hubert.” she told him, using her Professor’s voice, but giving him a wife’s sweet smile.

He swallowed and held her hand more tightly.

“I will support you.” he swore, not only meaning their positions in battle. And he did so, with ardour and tenacity, eliminating enemies for her while planning their trip to the East of Fòdlan where he would lie flowers at her feet and serve her in any way she desired.

Their army was spent, tired, and seriously wounded, but in the end, dawn came upon a Fòdlan where the Agarthans were no more. Lady Edelgard sat on a rock and cried quietly, tears of relief and joy staining her already dirty cheeks. Hubert and Byleth let her be, knowing she would prefer to vent alone for the time being.

Soon, the less tired soldiers started cheering and rejoicing and the Black Eagles followed their example, hugging each other and raising their hands to the clear sky. They all went to Byleth, thanking her for her support and her strategies, and Lady Edelgard soon joined them, embracing her dear teacher and crying on her shoulder with a happy smile, whispering words of gratefulness to her.

Then, she came to Hubert and hugged him, too.

“We did it.” she said, sniffling, snot on her nose. She reminded him of their younger days, when she would cry after being scolded by her father and run to him for moral support.

“We did it, Edelgard.” he replied without his usual formalities, allowing himself that small concession. He smiled and handed her a miraculously clean handkerchief, just like he had used to do when they were kids. She took it, grinned at him like the Edelgard of old times, and went back to her Black Eagles.

Byleth joined him, love and pride on her mouth and in her eyes. He immediately removed his gloves and took her hands, sighing with joy at the skin-on-skin contact.

“How do you feel?” she asked him, tilting her head. Her hair was a mess and her face was dirty with blood and soot – she had never looked more beautiful, he thought, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

“Good. My arms ache a little, but it will pass soon.” He eyed her with concern, moving closer to her. “What about you, my sparrow?”

“I’m fine. But I didn’t mean that.” Her smile grew, as the wisdom in her eyes did. “How do you _feel_, Hubert?”

It took him a few seconds to process her question. Then he opened his mouth, made a weird sound, and tears filled his eyes to the brim, until they ran down his gaunt, too-pale cheeks.

Those Who Slithered in the Dark were gone and Fòdlan was finally free, free from their evil, poisonous influence which had ruined so many lives, free from their experiments and thirst for revenge, free from their madness and mania.

He felt light and also timid – would Byleth be offended if he thought he had avenged her father by killing those who had killed him and made her suffer so much? He asked her as much and her eyes welled up with tears as well.

“Oh, Hubert.” She rubbed the back of his hand. “Of course not. I’m honoured and my father would be, too.”

He smiled, still crying, and even though soldiers were watching him – shocked to see him cry like that -, he couldn’t care less.

“Our son, our little Jeralt… he will be safe, now.” he said, his lips slightly quivering. “He will be able to live in a world of peace, where no enemies of the Empire will ever put him in danger.”

She nodded and he thought of those two years of marriage – they weren’t many, but there would be many more in the future. A future where his wife and the child they had made together wouldn’t need to fight and sully their hands with blood. A future where he could finally step into the light with them and enjoy that newfound freedom and peace with them.

His tears increased and he pulled Byleth into a tight embrace, kissing her in front of everyone. They had done that two years ago, at their marriage; after that, they had always kissed so passionately in private, despite his desire to cover her with kisses from head to toe in the Palace’s corridors.

Their friends and the soldiers around them gasped, then loud cheers erupted from them as Byleth threw her arms around his neck and he cradled her face in his trembling hands.

\- - -

It was strange seeing their little Jeralt wear the Academy uniform. He would always be a cheerful, small babe with chubby cheeks for Hubert, but even he couldn’t deny the flow of time and Jeralt, now sixteen years old, was proof of that.

The Academy had been reopened years ago. It was an Imperial institution, now, and the Three Houses were no more, since Adrestia had unified the entire continent under its banner. However, the Monastery’s teaching schedules and rules had been maintained and only its religious quarters had been changed, the Cathedral turned into a place of celebration for the Emperor and other rooms converted into more dormitories for the students and teachers.

Even though Fòdlan wasn’t at war anymore, children were expected to study at the Academy to improve skills that could always come in handy in their lives. It was a tradition that Lady Edelgard had had no intention of eliminating – she had loved her time at the Monastery, despite the heavy pressure her duty had put on her at the time, and she wanted everyone – not just rich, noble scions like old times – to be part of that world.

That was why she had turned the Academy into a public body of the Empire; the students wouldn’t need to pay any entrance fees to attend it anymore, as it was entirely funded and kept by the Empire. She had poured her entire heart and soul into that project and after a few, hard, but satisfying years, Garreg Mach had become a place open to everyone, “this time for real”, as the Emperor had said.

It was this new Academy that welcomed little Jeralt. But he wasn’t really little anymore; at sixteen, he was almost as tall as his father and the daily training with his mother had shaped his body into a lean, fit form.

He wasn’t a mage – they had found out the hard way, after a spell had almost made the kitchens explode, that he wasn’t good with magic. Instead, he was a skilled swordsman just like his mother was and Hubert couldn’t have been happier for him.

He had Byleth’s eyes, but their colour was totally Hubert’s. His smile was also hers, while his personality didn’t resemble neither of theirs at all. While Hubert was still creepy, unsettling, and broody with strangers and Byleth still a bit distant and quiet, Jeralt was cheerful, timid, soft and selfless like a prince from a fairytale.

That and his good looks would make him very popular at the Academy, Hubert told him with a smile, which turned into a laugh when his son babbled something and looked away, blushing.

“I wonder where you got that from.” Byleth wondered, fixing the lapels of his uniform one last time. They were at the entrance, in the market courtyard which was that day filled with other young people saying goodbye to their families and checking their bags before the bells in the towers would ring to signal the start of the new school year.

“His good looks? From you, obviously.” Hubert said, but Byleth shot him an amused look accompanied by a fond smile.

“I meant his adorable personality.”

“Oh, my sparrow, aren’t we adorable, too?” He gave her a mischievous grin, moving closer to her, and she replied by playfully tugging at his dark fringe, still covering his eye after all this time.

They hadn’t changed much in those sixteen years – a few grey hairs and wrinkles here and there, but everything else was still the same. They were still Hubert and Byleth, their rings shining under the sunlight, her cape showing birds flying freely.

“What do you say, our swallow?” he asked, looking at the little girl in his arms. She was scowling, her face half-hidden by her short, straight black hair. She looked more like him than Byleth when she made that expression, but the shape of her face was definitely her mother’s, as well as her eye-colour was.

“I don’t care.” she muttered, looking away from her brother. She kept shuffling the tarot cards in her hands, pouting, glaring at everything that dared enter her line of sight.

“I will be back for the Autumn Festival, Nadja.” Jeralt told her soothingly, caressing her messy hair. “And you, Mom, and Dad can come visit me whenever you want! The Academy is always open to guests.”

She turned to glare at him, her small eyes – Hubert’s – trying to drill holes into him. But Jeralt knew her too well and they cared for each other too much for him to be mad at her. He smiled softly and caressed her hair again.

“It’s only for a year, swallow.” Byleth told her, moving closer to kiss her forehead. “Believe me, it will be over soon. Before you realize it, Jeralt will be home with us again.”

Nadja huffed, but nodded. She was way more stubborn than Jeralt, but she tended to listen well to her parents about important stuff.

“You will go to the Academy soon, we promise.” Hubert added. That was also another cause of discomfort and sadness for her – she wanted to stay with her brother _and _learn the same things he would learn in that new, wonderful place she had only ever heard about.

“And by that time, Uncle Ferdie and Aunt Dorothea’s daughters will attend, too!” Byleth added, giggling when she saw the look of interest and mischief in her daughter’s eyes. She liked playing pranks on them, filling their pockets with crickets and toads and scaring them with silly tarot readings and frightening stories.

“You promise?” Nadja mumbled, looking at her parents, and when they nodded and smiled, she sighed and turned to her brother.

“But you must write me every day! Or I will hex you!”

“I don’t doubt it.” he chuckled, leaning down to kiss her head. She was skilled with magic and had really managed to put some minor, harmless curses on the more snobbish and selfish children at court, those kids who still believed in dividing society into different classes just like their parents did.

“And you must tell me everything they teach you here! Or I will ask my tarot cards to give me the worst possible readings for you!” She was crying, now, and she clung to Jeralt’s uniform with a small, but strong hand.

Jeralt promised, then the bells rang. Students started entering the ex-Monastery, waving at their family and meeting with old childhood friends. Jeralt turned to look at the wide, open gates, hesitating.

“It will be alright, little raven. You will do magnificently.” Byleth told him, smiling and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Go and enjoy yourself. We will write every day, too.”

Jeralt hugged her, then he moved to hug his sister. She sniffled and loudly kissed his cheek, promising in a quiet voice that she would protect him from afar with her magic and that her tarot would always say good things about his future, even though tarot cards didn’t really work like that.

Finally, he looked at Hubert. He stared back at him with a warm smile and when his son wrapped his arms around him, he held him tightly and planted a kiss on his temple.

“I will make you and Mom proud of me, Dad.” Jeralt swore, his words laced with love and tears. The letters Hubert had been writing to him since he was a baby were safely kept under his jacket, pressed against his heart. He had refused to leave them at home and he hadn’t wanted to put them into his bags, where they could have got crumpled.

Hubert had promised him he would write him many, many more during that school year and in the coming years as well.

“We already are proud of you, my raven.” Hubert said, kissing his forehead as Jeralt gently pulled back. “We already are.”

He felt tears sting his eyes as his son took his bags and ascended the stairs leading to main entrance. Jeralt turned one last time to wave at them, then they lost him in the crowd of students, guards, and professors.

They stood there in the courtyard some more minutes, hoping to catch another glimpse of their boy, but then they had to disperse with the other families to let the merchants resume their business and not occupy too much space.

Byleth sniffled and rubbed her eyes to dry them as they walked towards the path leading to the village below – Hubert saw her and temporarily let her hand go to gently press his thumb on her cheek and dry the tears himself.

“Thank you.” She kissed his hand and Hubert leaned over to kiss that part of her hairline where two or three silver hairs had appeared. Nadja caught his attention by tugging at his cravat.

“Dad, Mom, can I sleep with you tonight?” she asked, uncharacteristically timid, her eyes still puffy and red. Hubert and Byleth shared a smile, then nodded at her.

“Of course, our swallow. We will also read that story you like so much together.”

“Can Mr. Croak sleep with us, too? He feels alone when I’m not with him at night.”

Neither Hubert nor Byleth were bothered by animals such as toads, frogs, or snakes – Byleth had grown up in fields and woods as a mercenary and was used to encountering any kind of wildlife and Hubert had a soft spot for those animals everyone else tended to shun or consider disgusting.

And so they reassured their daughter with a “Of course he can.” and Nadja slowly fell asleep in her father’s arms, lulled by the warm sunlight, the promise that her pet frog would sleep with her, and her parents’ soft voices.

\- - -

Later that day, as they watched Nadja play in the garden of House Vestra under the orange and red hues of the sunset, Hubert finally got the courage to ask Byleth something very important.

“My sparrow.” He looked at her in the eye, suddenly blushing under her tender, starry gaze.

He believed he had improved; he still said foolish things every now and then, but they always made her laugh and his bashfulness wasn’t important at all if that was her reaction to his stupidity.

“Have I… Have I become a good husband?”

She smiled at him, his brilliant, gorgeous wife dressed in green, flowers in her hair and under her feet. The breeze that blew gently in the garden made her braided locks look like dark blue gems, precious carved stones.

He looked down at his hands, clenched tightly on his thighs. His bare hands, pale and bigger than hers, but thin and with too-long fingers. He felt her petite, strong ones gently brush the bang away from his right eye.

“Hubert, my hawk.” she said, her smiling face close to his, a divine apparition before which he was ready to kneel. “You have always been, since from the start.”

He blushed, relief and joy flooding his being like an all-healing elixir, and he smiled back at her, ready to fly with her and their children in the vast sky for all eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S COMPLETE 
> 
> I never thought this fic would become so popular! Thank you all so much for all your support and love, it means so much ; v ; 
> 
> Some info: Nadja will be the new head of House Vestra in the distant future, serving Edelgard/Edelgard's successor ; v ;
> 
> Jeralt will become a botanist/healer, healing people with plants and herbs uvu
> 
> Hubert and Byleth confirmed for Best Parents. Also, as soon as their kids are settled down, they will go on long holidays in quiet, beautiful places to relax together under the trees and make love until dawn ahdhdfjfg

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so I apologize for any typos!


End file.
